A Small Price to Pay
by MaverickLover2
Summary: It was supposed to be simple and uncomplicated. Walk the bride down the aisle. Celebrate. Be happy. Not in Bart Maverick's life.
1. Prologue

A Small Price to Pay

Prologue

New Orleans. The Bayou. Food like no one had ever tasted. Music and drink and any kind of poker game your heart desired. Good cigars and beautiful women. Antebellum mansions and titled gentry. French aristocrats and Cajun land barons.

Dark, dirty seaport. Shifty and dishonest card sharks. Scam artists. Every kind of criminal that existed. Shanghaied if you weren't careful. Robbed if you were.

Bart Maverick had been here nearly two months and experienced most everything the city had to offer. His brother Bret had departed almost a week ago, worn out from living the high life/low life in the same city at the same time. Returning to a less exciting and more civilized existence, being thrown out of whatever town came next on the roadmap back to Memphis. Bart had stayed on, waiting to see where his heart and his wallet were leading him next.

He hadn't anticipated the wire that arrived one morning while he was still trying to decide. It was simple and to the point.

 _Hurry home._

 _Need you to walk me down the aisle._

 _June 16. Bring Bret._

 _Love, Jody_

He'd only had one letter from Jody in the time he'd been in New Orleans. It was joyful but vague on details. He wrote back right away and then got nothing but silence. Maybe she was too involved with the saloon. Since Marcus Hook had been arrested and tried for various and sundry crimes, including murder for hire, business had been booming again as Silver Creek, Montana continued its growth spurt. None of the other saloons that had been bought out or closed down re-opened and 'The Three Mavericks' was now the only gambling hall in town.

So the wire caught him by surprise. Sounded like Jody's life was progressing even faster than he thought; he started making plans to head north as soon as feasible. He sent his own wire to Bret in Memphis, played poker one more night and indulged in one or two of the other vices the city offered, then packed his bag and caught the next stage. He'd made a promise to his 'sister' a long time ago and he was going to keep it. Come hell or high water.

XXXXXXXX

Everything was perfect. Marcus Hook had been tried and convicted; he would never attempt to take over another town. Business was back to normal and everyone at the saloon was in high spirits. Beau Maverick had returned to Silver Creek as promised and he and her mother were seeing each other again. Travis had asked her to marry him and she'd said 'yes.' Everything was perfect.

But it wasn't. She needed the counsel and advise of her brother, Bart, and she needed it now. So she lied about the wedding date and sent the telegram, knowing that he'd be there as soon as he could. It was just a small lie. The wedding was actually set for August first and not June sixteenth. He might be upset with her at first but he would get over it. His being momentarily angry was a small price to pay for his presence at the most important time of her life. At least that's what she kept telling herself.


	2. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 1 – To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

When it came to getting to Montana he wasn't sure which was worse – going by stage coach or riding a horse. There were advantages and disadvantages to each, although right now he was hard-pressed to remember advantages to either. The coach was dirty, smelly and uncomfortable; it took longer to get there on horseback. Not being in the frame of mind to sleep many nights on the hard ground, he opted for the stagecoach. Which came with its own set of problems.

First and foremost were the other people making the trip. You never knew what kind of an assortment you were going to get; some were better than others. This time luck seemed to be with him – there was a preacher, Reverend James, who didn't seem too interested in saving his soul; a young couple, recently married and going to live in Memphis, Jackson and Adeline Smithson; and Marybeth Canton, who professed to be a young widow but looked more like a dance hall girl. There was something awfully familiar about her, but Bart didn't know who she Reverend and Marybeth were going all the way to Montana; if his brother was meeting him he'd lose The Smithson's in Memphis but gain a Maverick.

The second day out of New Orleans he got into a spirited discussion with Reverend James, debating the merits of heaven versus hell. Hell didn't hold any advantage as far as either Bart or the Reverend could see. That much they were in agreement on. They parted ways when it came to what would get you into heaven; one put his faith in good works and living piously, the other put his faith in God. Of course since he also believed God had a reasonable sense of humor, there was no way he'd let a gambler into heaven.

Mrs. Canton didn't say much but she watched him carefully. Humorous and self-depreciating as he appeared to be, she had the feeling this was a man you could count on when you needed to. The knowledge of which might come in handy later on.

The Smithson's were a typical newly married twosome. He called her 'darling' and 'Mrs. Smithson'; she called him 'dearest man.' He wondered how long it would take for the sweet expressions to grow old and turn into 'ma' and 'pa.'

These were not the people you could pass the time playing poker with, so he spent a lot of time dozing or playing Maverick Solitaire. _'Please, Bret, be in Memphis waiting,'_ kept going through his mind until he could almost sing it out loud. His luck held and when the Smithson's departed for their new home a familiar face came into view.

"Well, Brother Bart, fancy meeting you here," cracked his brother as he climbed into the coach and tipped his hat to Mrs. Canton. "Ma'am," then turned to the other party still riding with them, "Reverend."

"Long time, Brother Bret," he returned the greeting. "You goin' my way?"

"Sure," borrowing Bart's second favorite word. "Came about awful sudden, didn't it?"

"Seems that way. Maybe Jody just didn't have time to write and tell me everything. I would imagine Hook's trial probably kept her pretty busy for a while."

Bret picked up on his brother's uncertainty. "That's not like her, Bart. She always had time to write you volumes. Think there's somethin' else goin' on there?"

Bart pulled his hat down over his forehead, as if to hide from questions he had no answers to. "I don't know. I'm not sure I know anything anymore. Change of subject. How'd you do in Memphis?"

Bret's grin lit up the coach. "Right well, if I say so myself. Almost better than New Awlins," he joked, having a little fun with the city's name. "What did you do after I left?"

Bart shrugged. "Just kept ploddin' along," he responded. Not entirely true. He had over fifteen thousand dollars on him before he wired it ahead to Montana. He wasn't giving anyone the opportunity to take that much away from him – he'd worked too hard to accumulate it.

They stopped talking for a few minutes and Bart peered out from under his hat to see what Mrs. Canton was doing. She studied Bret as intently as she had Bart. Widow or no, she was certainly a curious creature, he concluded. Perhaps just a little too curious for his taste.

At least he had someone to play poker with now. They played their normal game when the two of them were together; whoever dealt got to cheat. Which meant, of course, that the dealer always won the hand. Reverend James watched them play for quite a while before he finally caught on – then he laughed and said, "Do you always play that way?"

Bret answered him very seriously, "Yes we do, Reverend. It's a family tradition. You know, like Sunday dinner at the folk's after church?"

Mrs. Canton finally asked a question: "Where did you learn how to do that?"

Bret answered again, turning the full force of the Maverick charm onto the attractive young widow, "Why ma'am, our dear old father taught us how to play poker like that."

Bart almost choked when he heard Bret use the word 'father.' Pappy would turn over in his grave if he heard that. Of course that was hard to do, considering that Pappy was still alive. Bret was really going out of his way to impress Marybeth.

Then she asked an unexpected question. "Could you teach me how to do that?"

Bret shook his head. "No ma'am, I'm afraid I can't. You see, Father made us swear an oath that we would never pass along any of the devil's tricks so they could be used to corrupt an innocent. I'm afraid we're both bound by that oath."

It was almost too much to bear. Bart had no idea what put Bret up to this level of shenanigans; he must have done even better in Memphis than he let on. Rarely had he been in such a jovial mood with a complete stranger. A very good looking stranger, but nevertheless a stranger.

Marybeth Canton turned on her own brand of charm. "Oh please, Mr. Maverick. It's not like I'm going to learn to do this to actually cheat anyone; I just have some very good lady friends that would be fascinated by how it's done." And she turned loose a dazzling smile on the oldest brother, and he was bewitched.

That's when Bart leaned over and took the deck out of Bret's hands. "Remember our oath to our dear old Pap – father," Bart reminded his brother. "You'll just have to show Mrs. Canton some of your other tricks." And with that he pulled his hat down over his eyes to take a nap.

XXXXXXXX

By the time they stopped overnight in Kansas City, Bart had gone back to reading or talking to the Reverend. The religious man had done some interesting things in his life and Bart enjoyed listening to his stories. He even told a few stories of his own, meticulously cleaning up the more disturbing details.

The overnight stay was a chance to 'disengage' his brother from the pretty widow and he attempted to do just that. They went to have a steak dinner at the hotel and Bret was delighted to watch his brother eat. What little appetite Bart possessed had finally returned and he was actually willing to consume more than just coffee. Bret was so impressed that he actually paid for dinner.

They were just leaving the dining room, headed for the nearest saloon, when who should come through the hotel lobby but Mrs. Canton. Dressed elegantly, she was something to behold, and once again Bret seemed fascinated.

"I don't mean to interrupt you," she began. "But I was on my way for some coffee. Would you gentlemen care to join me?"

"I'd love to," Bret answered.

"I need a good night's sleep in a bed," Bart declared. "I hope you'll forgive me for not joining you?"

"Certainly," answered Marybeth.

"Mmmhmm," added his brother. And off he and Mrs. Canton went, back towards the room he'd just come out of, arm in arm with the lady in question.

Bart went up to the room he and Bret shared and removed the shoulder holster; he'd taken to wearing the derringer almost full time now. Next the gun belt, and as was his practice he laid it in the bed next to him. If Bret turned up before morning he'd have to share the bed with Bart AND Bart's gun. Then he finished undressing and crawled under the blanket; it was a chilly night for early summer. Sleep came quickly, even though he'd napped most of the afternoon, and with sleep came the usual dreams. Maybe someday he could sleep without reliving his time in any one of a dozen places he'd been injured. Someday.


	3. Feelings, Nothing More Than Feelings

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 2 – Feelings, Nothing More than Feelings

Bart was up and dressed when he heard the key turn in the door. Bret looked almost the same except for the stubble and the smile on his face.

"Enjoy your night?" Bart asked, already knowing the answer.

"Immensely," came the answer. "Marybeth really is quite a woman."

"I'll just bet."

"Have some respect, Bartley."

"Stop it," Bart shot back at him. "Only Jody and Pappy call me that."

"It's your name," Bret teased.

"Am I gonna have to listen to this all the way to Montana?"

Bret grinned at him. "Probably."

"How long do you suppose it would take me if I walked?" Bart was half serious.

"You'd be there by Christmas."

"It might be worth it."

"Jody would never speak to you again."

He hadn't considered that. "True."

"And neither would I."

Finally Bart laughed. "Then it's settled. I'm walking."

Bret laughed with him. "How bout walkin' to breakfast? We've got just enough time before the stage leaves."

"Sure."

"Give me a minute. I need to shave."

"In a minute?" the younger Maverick asked.

"Or two," Bret answered.

True to his word, the shaving was accomplished within two minutes. "Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it," Bart commented when Bret was through.

"No problem. Done it too many times to count."

"I just bet you have," Bart muttered under his breath, knowing exactly what that implied.

"What was that?" Bret asked innocently.

"Nothing," his brother answered. "Let's go eat. I need coffee."

"Ah, the magic word," came the remark. "Let's go."

They went downstairs, carrying their bags with them. Into the dining room for coffee and breakfast, and then back on the coach for the next leg of the trip. Meals seemed to be the only time Bret wasn't occupied elsewhere.

By the time the last cup of coffee reached them, Marybeth Canton had come down the hotel stairs and headed outside. The bell boy followed, arms full of bags and suitcases, looking like a pack mule. Bart smiled to himself; he understood why Bret hadn't offered to carry her bags. "Too much work?" he inquired.

Bret just laughed and put down his cup. "Smart boy," he offered in reply. "Ready?"

No answer from the younger brother, just the push of a chair and a nod. Both picked up their bags and walked outside, waiting to see if any new passengers were joining them on the ensuing part of the journey to Denver. Only one, a pleasant-looking young man who couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty years old. Marybeth was already seated in the stage, and Bret climbed in next to her. The Reverend came scurrying out of the hotel, on the verge of getting left behind, and joined Bart and the new traveler on the other side of the coach. The young man tipped his hat, "Ma'am," and introduced himself. "Buck Fenner, bound for Denver and a newspaper job. Gentlemen?"

"Reverend Daniel James."

"Bart Maverick. Pleased to meet you, Buck."

"Ma'am?"

"Mrs. Marybeth Canton." She offered her hand to the newcomer, which he took willingly, another man enraptured by the attractive young widow.

"Mr. Canton," Buck assumed, and offered to shake hands with Bret.

"Nope," the gambler answered as he shook. "Bret Maverick."

"Brothers?"

"Yep," Bart answered, amused to see the look on Bret's face. It was a mixture of sheer terror and fear. The thought of marriage tended to do that to his older brother.

"And you gentlemen are - ?"

"Bon vivants," Bret offered.

That was a new one. They'd stayed in New Orleans too long, Bart thought. "So, a newspaper job, eh? What kind?" Not being the kind of man who was interested in working for a living, Bart wondered what drew people to different jobs.

"Typesetter, at first," Buck answered. "Then reporter. At least that's the plan."

"And the job's in Denver?" Bret inquired.

"Yes, sir, in Denver. Never been there myself. You?"

Bret and his brother both thought back to their last sojourn in Denver. Not a particularly pleasant experience. Bret had almost been killed and Bart had been beaten within an inch of his life. Bret did the answering. "Oh, yeah."

"Is it a big town?"

"Gettin' bigger every day. You'll do fine there."

Marybeth finally had a question for him. "Awfully young to be traveling so far alone, to a whole new life, aren't you?"

"Oh no, Ma'am," came the quick reply. "I'm not alone. I have a wife waiting for me in Denver. She went on ahead with her father, he just bought the 'Denver Nugget' newspaper. I'll be working for him." He smiled happily, as if he hadn't a worry in the world.

"Work hard and be a faithful husband," Reverend James chimed in.

"And don't gamble," added Bret, with more than a hint of irony.

Buck laughed at Bret's directive. "Oh, I don't gamble, sir. The sweet science of poker, that's my game. It's not gambling when it's played right."

Bret and Bart exchanged glances. A game of poker, perhaps?

"I just happen to have a deck of cards, Buck. Would you care to join us in a game?"

Bart grabbed the Reverend's arm before he could say anything and whispered quietly, "An honest game, Reverend."

The Reverend nodded his head. After several days and untold hours spent with the younger Maverick, Daniel James believed him.

They played morning and afternoon, for small stakes only, with first one winning and then the other. Buck was a surprisingly good poker player, a bit on the conservative side, but difficult to read. Bart finally picked up on the little tell that Buck had and started to win consistently. He could only assume that Bret was still distracted by Mrs. Canton; he hadn't shown any sign of reading the young aspiring newspaperman.

The poker game continued until they stopped at a way station that evening, for a change of horses and a meal. The two passengers not involved in poker had both been dozing when they arrived; Bret got out first and helped Marybeth down, then the Reverend. Buck quickly followed, leaving Bart in the coach alone. It was nice and peaceful and he sat there a minute, wishing the trip was over and they were already back in Montana. When he finally got out everyone else was already inside. "You the straggler?" the stationmaster's wife asked unnecessarily.

"That would be me," Bart replied. He seated himself at the one empty chair, on the other side of Mrs. Canton, and poured coffee. She was still a curiosity to him; a pretty young widow who looked like a dance hall girl but acted like aristocracy. She seemed curious about him until Bret appeared and then her focus shifted to his brother. There was something just a bit off about her, and he still had the nagging feeling he'd seen her somewhere before. His own curiosity took over and he started asking questions.

"Tell me, Mrs. Canton, where were you coming from?" He made the question sound as innocent as he could.

"Why Mr. Maverick, I got on the same place you did – New Orleans."

"Oh, did you reside in New Orleans?"

"No sir, my husband was there on business when he got killed." She smiled prettily at him, hoping he wouldn't realize she still hadn't answered his question.

The gambler wasn't so easily distracted. "On business? And he was killed, you say?"

She looked down at her hands as she replied. "Yes, he owned part of several restaurant's in the area. He was killed in a riding accident. It was . . . . rather sudden."

Bart watched her carefully. The accident had either happened quite a while ago or she wasn't in love with her husband when he died. "You never said where you were from."

She feigned forgetfulness. "Oh, I didn't, did I? I'm sorry. We lived in Biloxi before Peter was killed." She possessed no southern accent; she wasn't from Biloxi.

"And why, if I may ask, are you going to Montana?" He continued his questions, still sounding idly curious.

"I have family in Montana. I'm going to live with them. And you?"

"My sister's getting married."

"Oh, yours and Bret's? I didn't know he had a sister."

"He doesn't." Bart made no effort to explain.

Supper was served before she could say anything else.

XXXXXXXX

Later that night everyone was asleep in the coach except the Mavericks. Marybeth slept with her head on Bret's shoulder, and when Bret was sure that he wouldn't be overheard he questioned his brother. "What was all that about at supper?"

"What? My questions for your friend?"

"Yeah. Is there something I should know?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. Just a feelin' that I've seen her somewhere."

Bret would have grilled his brother further but Bart had an unerring instinct about people. He let it pass and reminded himself to keep an eye on his 'lady friend.' Nobody wanted any trouble on this trip; not even woman trouble.


	4. The Arrival

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 3 -– The Arrival

Buck Fenner left them in Denver, met at the stagecoach by a pretty little blonde with a big smile. "Lucky man," observed Bart.

"Is he?" asked his brother.

"He thinks so," Bart stated. "That's all that counts."

Just a few more days. He was sick to death of the coach, talking religion all day and playing poker all night, racking his brain to remember why Marybeth Canton looked familiar. Of not being able to stretch his legs, or light a cigar, or take his clothes off to sleep. Sick to death of having every word he said to his brother being overheard by a woman neither of them knew.

So when they came over that final hill and began the approach to Silver Creek he was more than ready for the trip to be over and done with. From the look of things Bret was too. When Mrs. Canton said she was going to Montana neither of them realized where she was going in Montana. Great Falls, Billings, Missoula? Butte, Big Sky, Bozeman? No, none of these. She was going to Silver Creek. And still hanging on to Bret like she owned him.

Finally the stage pulled up in front of the 'Silver Creek Miners Hotel.' The establishment had changed names since they left, but that had been two years ago. The town looked substantially the same, only twice as big as before. And then they were there; Bart opened the stage door and stepped out and a blue streak with long red hair flying came hurtling at him and jumped into his outstretched arms; threatening to knock both of them over. Onlookers would be hard pressed to determine which of them was laughing hardest or loudest. He picked Jody up and swung her around in a circle, spinning her as if she was a little child. Hugs abounded and Bart kissed her on the cheek and forehead and swung her around again. Bret came out of the coach next and turned back to help Marybeth down; Jody didn't give him the chance. She disengaged from Bart and jumped straight into Bret's arms next, continuing to laugh and hug with wild abandon. He at long last put her down and assisted Mrs. Canton in alighting from the coach.

Jody ran back to Bart and threw her arms around his neck. Any semblance of the proper young woman was gone; she was a little girl again and her big brother was back. "Oh, Bartley! I'm so glad you're finally here, I almost couldn't wait any longer."

Marybeth turned to whisper in Bret's ear, "Now I understand why she's not your sister, too."

Jody let go of Bart and smoothed first her dress, then her hair down and turned to Bret. "I'm glad you're with him, Bret. I've missed you, too."

"Likewise, Jody," Bret answered. "Marybeth Canton, may I present our sister, Jody Mayfield. Jody, this is Marybeth Canton. Mrs. Canton."

Bart heard Bret use the 'our sister' label and was pleased. Bret had always felt like she was much more closely related to Bart than him, so it was satisfying to hear the introduction to Marybeth. Bart even smiled.

Only then did they both see their cousin Beau standing on the steps of the hotel, patiently waiting his turn to greet them. A hug for Bret and some whispered words, then an even bigger hug for Bart, accompanied by a slap on the back. "Cousin Bart, you're looking much healthier than the last time I saw you. Welcome back."

"Thanks, Beau. Good to be here under better circumstances. You're looking fit, Cousin," Bart meant it; whatever Beau and his ex-fiancé had gone through had been forgotten and he appeared to have suffered no ill-effects. Behind Beau stood Georgia, looking even prettier than the day they left, and she had more restrained hugs and kisses for both of them. Doc Washburn was there, too – even though retired, everyone still called him Doc. He shook hands with both Mavericks and had an extra twinkle in his eye when he told Bart, "Much improved, son. Lookin' good."

Jody put her arm through Bart's and walked him up the hotel steps. "Travis would have been here, too, but he had to keep an eye on the jail while he's training the new deputy." Bart nodded; the last deputy marshal Travis Cole had was murdered on the riverboat Mississippi Bayou Belle in an effort to close down the saloon and kill Bart.

"We'll see him soon," Bart promised her.

Bret escorted Marybeth inside. "Are you staying here?"

"Just tonight. My brother-in-law will be here tomorrow morning to pick me up. He couldn't get here any before that. Will you be here tonight?"

"Yep," came his reply. "Dinner at seven o'clock?"

"I'd be delighted. I'll see you at seven."

Bret left her at the desk to sign in. The desk clerk handed him a key that said '214.' Bret stared at it and then handed it back to the man. "Have you got another room?" Room 214 had been Bart's when he was attacked. The clerk gave him 220 instead. "Thanks."

He bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and got to the top before realizing that he didn't know if he and his brother were sharing a room or not. Sounded like not, as he got to the door for 220 and all was quiet, then heard the noise coming from the room right across the hall. He knocked on 221 and Beau pulled the door open. "Cousin Bret, come right in. Cousin Bart seems a little busy at the moment." Beau made a sweeping gesture with his arm, ushering Bret into the room. Bart was sitting on the bed, with Jody right beside him and Georgia in a chair in front of him. Doc Washburn completed the circle, and as Bret walked into the room Hiram Foster came down the hall and walked inside right behind him. Hiram slapped him on the back and shook his hand.

"Seems like everybody's here," Bret commented.

"Not quite," Hiram reminded him. "We lost Harry about a year ago."

Harry met a new girl named Anna Lee at the saloon and they fell in love and were about to get married when he ran across a customer with a bad temper and a short fuse. Harry took two bullets to the chest before he could get the double-barrel shotgun that he kept behind the bar out and the cowboy paid for it with his life when Travis came to arrest him and he drew his gun. Alvin Moore had taken over running the bar and kept everything just the way Harry had it, including the shotgun. Georgia and Jody still missed him.

Hiram Foster walked over to the bed and Bart stood up and embraced the man who'd defended him. "You look a lot better with some meat on your bones, boy," the attorney grinned. "Not like that scarecrow that left us. Good job, Bret, you got him to eat."

"Yeah, I threatened to take away his coffee." The whole room laughed.

"I am here, you all know. I can hear you," the young gambler complained.

Everyone got quiet as they heard boots in the hall. Marshal Travis Cole appeared in the doorway and Jody launched herself off the bed and into his arms before he had a chance to progress any further into the room. Hiram Foster took Jody's set on the bed.

"Sorry I couldn't be here to see you in, I was tied up at the jail. " The tall man entered the room, shook Bret's hand and progressed over to Bart. They looked at each other for a moment, Bart wondering the irony of Jody marrying a lawman, Travis contemplating the family of card sharps that Jody had inserted herself into. Both decided at the same moment to accept the other without reservation; Jody Mayfield loved them. They shook hands warmly, any potential doubts set aside for her sake.

Everyone talked for a while; each attempting to condense two years' worth of life's happenings into a few minutes. Slowly everything would down and they all drifted away, except for Jody. There was to be a big party at the saloon that night, and after a few minutes alone with Bart Jody excused herself too and walked to the door of his room. "Nine o'clock tonight, Bartley – you be ready and don't make me come get you. Rest now and get your strength back."

He smiled to himself; it was sweet that she still worried about his health. "Jody, I'm fine. There' nothing wrong with me. I haven't done anything more strenuous for the last week than listen to Bret snore."

She kissed him on the cheek and left anyway. "Tonight, brother dear," and she was gone.


	5. Mind Games and The Mother Load

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 4 – Mind Games and The Mother Lode

The room seemed suddenly quiet and empty, and he wondered where Bret was. He crossed the hall to room 220 and knocked. "Brother Bret, you there?"

"Come on in, Bart," came immediately back as an answer.

Bret was stretched out on the bed, vest unbuttoned, tie untied, intently studying the ceiling. He looked over as soon as Bart entered. "What's up?"

Bart took a seat as he shook his head. "I don't know. Somethin's not right. I can feel it. Anything strike you as odd?"

Bret raised up, leaning on his elbow. "No, not particularly. You got somethin' specific in mind?"

Another head shake. "Just a feelin'. Maybe I'm imagining things. You gonna bring Mrs. Canton tonight?"

"Call her Marybeth, would ya?"

Why did that bother his brother? "Are you gonna bring Marybeth tonight?"

"Maybe. If she'll come. She's leavin' tomorrow."

Bart leaned against the bed post and lit a cigar, striking the match on his gun belt. "Oh?"

"Family's comin' to get her."

"You thinkin' about stoppin' that?"

"No." The silence stretched on until Bret asked, "What's gotten in to you? Somethin' botherin' you?"

The younger brother walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. It was busy; people and wagons and horses going everywhere. It was almost the same view he'd had from room 214. A chill went up his spine unexpectedly and he shuddered. "I don't think I like comin' back to places."

"One way to prevent that, ya know. Don't come back."

A short laugh. "Or don't leave in the first place."

"That solves the problem, too." Bret looked over at his brother, standing at the window, and wondered what was bothering him. He'd seemed different lately and Bret just couldn't put his finger on it. Had the Maverick wanderlust begun to wear thin for him? Was Bart contemplating settling down somewhere, staying in one place? Had he missed being in Silver Creek?

Or was it somewhere else on his mind? Perhaps Carson City?

Bret sat up in the bed, troubled by the thought of his brother anchored in one town; maybe married and settled down, and him still wandering from place to place looking for what? Was he looking for something, or was it someone? Bart had found somebody, once, and he'd had it pulled right out from under him. Did he want what his brother almost had?

"Bart?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you ever think about . . . . . you know, settlin' down somewhere?"

"Whadda ya mean, settlin' down?

"I mean settlin' down. Stayin' in one place. Not leavin.' Like Pappy and Uncle Ben. Like Jody and Travis. Like Beau seems to want to do."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Bart turned away from the window. There was a look on his face that Bret hadn't seen in a long time. It was – sadness; emptiness; loneliness. He knew that look.

"Yeah, I think about it. I could've done it – once. Maybe even twice. But now?" He sat down heavily in the chair by the window. "What about you?"

"Me?" Bret asked. "Not even close." He thought about all the women he'd known. Was there one? One that made his heart stop when he saw her? That set his soul on fire when he kissed her? No. Not one. Maybe Buck Fenner was lucky. Maybe Bart had been, too. Maybe someday he would be. But not right now. For now he would just have to get by with the Marybeth Canton's of the world. Good, but not good enough.

"Well, you know what Pappy would say," Bret reminded them both. "Don't cry over spilt milk, it coulda been whiskey." He got up off the bed and began tying his tie. "Come on, it's a long time until seven o'clock. Let's go get some coffee."

XXXXXXXX

The view from the front of the hotel was quite different. Doc Washburn's office was now 'The Dooley-Thomas Silver Creek Clinic' and was twice as big as it had been. There was a barber shop and a ladies dress shop; and the general store had been replaced by "Birnham's Dry Goods Store.' The jail had expanded, also, and bars were added to the windows. And a small tobacco store opened right next to 'The Three Mavericks' saloon. The Western Union Telegraph office moved all the way down Main Street and a boarding house was opened when Beau moved out of Georgia's house and she sold it. There was a second street, behind Main Street, and little houses with picket fences lined it. The town had grown up while they were gone.

Bret and Bart ate lunch instead of just drinking coffee and the sweet little waitress that took care of them when they first came to Silver Creek had returned to employment at the hotel to handle the afternoon shift in the dining room. They mourned Harry's passing and wondered if Alvin was as efficient with the customers as Harry had been. With nothing better to do, they wandered down to the saloon. There were new batwing doors, heavy and ornate looking, and new solid doors behind them, to close out the cold in the dead of winter.

All the furniture had been replaced, and bright, shiny chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling. The walls had been painted and papered. Alvin greeted them warmly and hurriedly poured two cups of coffee; he hadn't forgotten. There was a new man running the roulette wheel, and an almost entirely new group of girls on the floor. Lettie was still there, and was now the night manager. Soon as she heard that Bret and Bart were in the house she came running out of her office and grabbed them both in a group bear hug. "Boy, am I glad to see you two! Nothing's been the same since you left. And leave it to you to get old Marcus Hook off our backs. That's one man got just what he deserved! Well, I have to go. Big, big party tonight! See you there!" And she was gone just as fast as she came, in a Lettie-like whirlwind.

No one else that they knew was on the premises, and after finishing their coffee they promised to see Alvin later and headed back to the hotel.

"Things change in a hurry, don't they?" Bret asked as they walked back up the street.

"When you're not around, they do," Bart answered somewhat wistfully.

Bret noted that tone in Bart's voice again. "Do you wish you'd stayed?"

Bart lit a cigar and shook his head at the same time. "Nope. I had to go. This place was gonna kill me."

They walked further up the street and Bart suggested they go out to visit Georgia and the ranch. "You know I never got to see Jessie's grave," Bart reminded his brother. "You were the only one with that privilege."

"Livery stable?" Bret asked.

"Yep."

"Horses or buggy?"

"Horses."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Want to strangle me yet?"

Laughter from both of them. Finally Bart answered. "Do you have any more questions?"

"Nope."

"Good. Let's go visiting."

XXXXXXXX

They had no trouble finding their way to the ranch, now called 'The Mother Lode.' The fence and gate that once surrounded the land and protected it from everyone, or protected everyone from it, were long since gone. Now there was one lone fence post with a sign attached to it that read "The Mother Lode. All visitors welcome." Quite a change from the short time Pike owned the property.

They rode on up to the house and found it completely different. There were plants and flowers everywhere. The big, heavy, solid wooden door that Pike had kept closed and locked was replaced by a door with an actual window in it. And it was painted a cheerful blue color. There were chairs and a swing on the porch, and a large vegetable garden all along the side wall. It no longer looked like a fortress, but rather a home. Bart and Bret both smiled when they saw it. Bart was particularly pleased, it no longer reminded him of the one place he'd ever threatened to kill a man.

Georgia heard them coming and hurried out to greet the brothers. It seemed they'd always been part of her life, even though it was only three years ago that they'd met. Everything had changed in that period of time, most of it on the 'good' side of the ledger. Even her conflicts with their cousin Beau seemed to be a thing of the past, and when he'd returned to town it wasn't long before he'd moved out to the ranch with her. With Jody's wedding approaching even faster than she had time to comprehend, she was hoping that Bart's presence could calm whatever jitters were apparent in the bride. Something was bothering her daughter and she hadn't a clue what to do about it.

"Boys!" Georgia had to laugh at the misnomer; the two good-looking men climbing down from their horses certainly weren't boys anymore. "I wondered how soon I'd see you. Come on in, I've got a fresh pot of coffee waiting." Bart laughed with her; his addiction to and dependence on the liquid black-gold was well-known.

The outside changes weren't the only ones made. The small fireplace that Edgar Pike had in the main room had been replaced by a huge, stone wall of a hearth, and three large overstuffed chairs made a semi-circle around it. Bright, cheerful pillows of all shapes and sizes were scattered everywhere, in the chairs and on the floor, and a large, braided rug in shades of blues and greens covered the wooden-planked floor. Hand knitted blankets in matching colors sat on each of the chairs, and a large wooden table was positioned in the room directly opposite of what could only be called the gigantic pantry. There were matching curtains on each window and the whole room looked like Georgia and not its previous occupant.

"Big improvement," commented Bret; Bart had never been inside the house. They sat in the chairs as Georgia poured coffee for everyone; the room was comfortable and cozy and much happier than it had been in the days following Jessalyn Maverick's death. Georgia's copy if the infamous 'Three Mavericks' photo dominated the mantel, joined by smaller photos of Jessie, Jody, and Georgia's late husband Holt Mayfield. Georgia even had a photo of Beau, taken recently from the looks of it. The Mayfield and Maverick families were intertwined in more ways than one.

"Nothing to do until later tonight?" Georgia inquired.

"Somethin' like that," Bart answered. "But we wanted to see you, and see how things were out here." Bart paused for a moment, and then quietly added, "And I wanted to see Aunt Jessie."

Georgia nodded, understanding Bart's feelings about the woman he so closely resembled. She looked over at Bret as she commented, "I think you'll find things as much different out there as they are in here."

"Good," Bret returned. "Aunt Jessie deserved better than she got."

The three non-related relatives sat in the comfortable chairs and talked for a good two hours; Georgia reported the business of the saloon and the problems that occurred beginning with Marcus Hook's arrival in Silver Creek, Bret and Bart filled in the blank pages in their lives. Both tended to omit some of the more gruesome physical challenges they'd faced, thus painting a much less demanding two-year sojourn than they'd actually experienced.

When the coffee was all gone and all three were for the most part caught up with each other, Bart finally raised the issue of the makeshift graveyard behind the house. "I'd like to visit Aunt Jessie alone for a few minutes if you don't mind," he requested.

Georgia and Bret exchanged quick glances and she held out her hand for him to hold onto. "Come on, I'll take you to her," and she stood and led him out back. The simple marker that had originally adorned the larger grave was gone, in its place was a beautiful hand-carved wooden cross that read 'Jessalyn Maverick, Beloved Aunt and Friend' and listed both her date of birth and her date of death. Georgia let loose of Bart's hand and walked back inside, leaving him alone with Jessie as requested. He stood there for long minutes, pondering the aunt he resembled and never knew, noting the rose bushes beginning to encroach on the dirt mound, and silently poured out his heart to her. Somehow he knew she would understand and listen, offering a kind of comfort that none of the living could. When he turned from the grave there were tears in his eyes but he felt more relieved than he had in a long time.

Bart returned to the house and both Georgia and his brother could see the difference in his countenance. He looked peaceful and calm, almost happy, as if he'd just left his life's burdens on someone else's shoulders. He kissed Georgia on the cheek and whispered "Thank you," as Bret took his turn at their aunt's grave. Neither Maverick said anything about the small, unmarked grave that still resided next to Jessie's.

So much had changed since that first visit with Georgia Mayfield, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. The brothers rode back to Silver Creek without speaking, much as they had ridden when her home was the JP Ranch and everyone was stunned into silence by Bart's threat to kill Edgar Pike.

Bart had suffered a lot in his short life; emotionally even more than physically. His mother's death at such a young age left a hole that nothing and no one could fill, not even his brother, and certainly not his pappy. Knowing that there was another maternal figure that Bart could have turned to for guidance and reassurance had weighed heavily on his mind, ever since he'd discovered his physical resemblance to the aunt he could only come to know after the fact. Finally being able to visit her grave and spend some time, however brief, with her was more comforting than he could have imagined. There had always been a piece of him missing; for the first time in years he felt whole. He smiled to himself and his brother saw and took heed; Bret felt a sense of relief, knowing that his brother was at peace with the world, at least temporarily.


	6. Time Has Come Today

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 5 – Time Has Come Today

The festivities were in full swing and had been for several hours by the time Bret Maverick arrived, escorting Marybeth Canton. They'd partaken of dinner and some periods of intimate conversation before she finally consented to accompany him to the party being held in the Mavericks honor. She wasn't sure what to expect but it certainly wasn't this – the saloon was packed and threatened to spill out the new batwing doors into the street. It was a loud but well-mannered bunch – considering the marshal and his brand new deputy were present, and everyone was in a celebratory mood. Alvin was running the bar, directing the two recently recruited bartenders and Lettie to keep everyone happily drinking. He hurried over to Bret as soon as he spotted the gambler enter and alerted him to the fact that seats at the 'table of honor' were still being held for him and his lady friend.

Bret steered Marybeth through the crowds to the far end of the room and found what he was looking for. Bart, Beau and Jody were already there and seated, along with Travis Cole and Georgia Mayfield. At the next table sat Doc Washburn, Hiram Foster and Sammy Taylor, the telegraph clerk who'd shuttled all their wires back and forth, along with several people that Bret hadn't met. Even Bart had a glass of champagne in front of him; the visit to Jessie's gravesite must have worked more miracles than Bret was aware of.

It was almost too noisy to talk, so Bret held Marybeth's chair for her and then signaled one of the saloon girls over with champagne. Marybeth leaned her head near his ear and told him "You must be a big man in this town to merit such a party."

He shook his head 'no' and answered her, "Big pond, small fish." She took a sip of champagne and he added, "Bart's the hero. He's much more responsible than I am. Our last names just happen to be the same." The thought crossed Marybeth's mind that perhaps she shouldn't be in such a hurry to depart Silver Creek. This might be a man worth hanging onto, even if she did run the risk of his brother figuring out why she looked familiar.

Now that everyone was here, Georgia stood up at the table and waited for the crowd to quiet down. When she could finally be heard she proposed a toast – "To the men who made all this possible, in more ways than one – Bret, Bart, and Beau Maverick – and to my daughter, their adopted sister, and her husband to be – Marshal Travis Cole."

Everyone raised their glasses and then a big cheer went up from the crowd inside the saloon. At that exact moment the Maverick brothers and their cousin could have run for any office in town they wanted – and been elected by a landslide. The way their lives went, how long would it take that to change?

XXXXXXXX

Bart was amused to find the town that had once gathered to see him hung now toasted him. He wasn't sure how long all this attention would last, and he certainly didn't want any of it. He sat back in his chair and lit a cigar, watching the faces around him laugh and enjoy the party. He stopped again at Marybeth Canton – he almost had it. Sooner or later he was bound to remember why she looked familiar. She certainly looked better tonight than the first time he'd seen her in the stage coach – she was actually a very pretty young woman – not wearing any of the exaggerated make-up he'd seen her in before. Much more natural and at ease now – in fact, the further she'd gotten from New Orleans the more relaxed she'd become. Whatever she was running from, it was back down in Louisiana – not here in Montana.

His attention wandered and he next focused on Beau. His cousin had been very closed mouth about whatever it was that had come between him and Georgia Mayfield's engagement – and just as closed mouthed about whatever got them back together. Beau looked content and he could see why – Georgia was an extremely striking woman, not that much older than Beau, and hung on his every word. Then his eye was drawn to Georgia's left hand and he saw the reason for their happiness – Georgia Mayfield was once again wearing Beau Maverick's ring.

But what was bothering his sister? Jody was the typical bride-to-be when she looked at Travis Cole; but when she looked away from him she wore an unhappy frown. What was wrong? She'd already promised him they'd talk tomorrow, so there was no need to press the issue tonight. He was determined to get to the bottom of the problem – her happiness was the most important thing in the world to him right now. And whatever or whoever was putting the frown on her face would not be allowed to continue.

He sighed and pondered how long this feeling of tranquility and contentment would last. Until the next poker hand? Until the next time someone pointed a gun at him? Or threatened his brother's life? However long, this peace would shatter like so much glass eventually, and he was determined to enjoy it until then.

XXXXXXXX

Beau was – happy wasn't the right word. Content didn't quite fit, either. Calm was the closest he could come to the combined feeling of relief and joy he'd felt when Georgia had put his ring back on and promised that this time she would indeed become his wife. The past was behind them – no more worrying about how long they would last or what the rest of the town would say. He didn't care about any of that and made his feelings known to her a dozen times in a dozen different ways, but she did and until she could let her fear go there was nothing he could do. So he'd moved out of her old house and packed – before she could stop him he was gone.

Beau needed time to reconcile himself to the fact that she wouldn't marry him – him, a Maverick, for whom marriage was the sworn enemy – and that he might have to live the rest of his life without her. It wasn't easy to do, and it wasn't something to be done in Silver Creek, where he'd have to see her every day. So leave he did, and somehow it brought her to her senses and made her aware that he was serious – marry him or he was gone forever. She'd made the right decision for him – was it right for her too?

Right now he didn't care. She promised a fall wedding – they could start planning as soon as Jody and Travis' nuptials were over and done with – and since it was going to be small he was hoping that Bret and Bart would stay in Silver Creek long enough to be there. He was a Maverick, after all, and family was important to him. But one way or the other there was going to be a new Mrs. Maverick before the year was through.

XXXXXXXX

Jody was on pins and needles, wondering if someone would mention the actual wedding date to Bart before she could talk to him tomorrow and explain the discrepancy between her telegram and the event. If she could just slip through this evening she would have the chance to make him understand the difference.

How to explain it all to a man who'd never been unsure of anything in his life? But he was the only one whose consul she was interested in. She'd just have to get through this night; tomorrow she could make him understand. And then pour out her heart to him and hope that he could give her the clarity she currently lacked. Her mother would never comprehend; neither would Travis, the man she loved, who'd forced her into this dilemma. Bart she trusted more than anyone on earth; the long hours they'd talked when he was unjustly held in jail had shown her the darkest regions of his soul, and she knew how alike they were. She was certain he was the only one that could help her.

So she waited; bided her time and bit her tongue, praying that August first would not come up in the conversation on this night. Every bit of her future happiness hung in the balance.

XXXXXXXX

Georgia Mayfield was as confused as her daughter, but you wouldn't know it to look at her. She thought she had everything figured out – she would return Beau's ring but make it clear that she still loved him, and eventually things would go back to the way they were before she'd agreed to marry him. He'd fooled her; just loving him wasn't enough for him – he insisted she become his wife. When she backed out of the proposal he backed out of town. No good – that wouldn't work. She was miserable without him, and it took her just a few days to realize it. By the time she'd finally found him again she was willing to do whatever it took to bring him back – including marrying him.

She loved him, beyond anything she'd ever imagined she was capable of. Every bit as much as she'd loved Holt Mayfield – and she never would have believed that possible. Maybe she put too much stock in the way people thought of her, or maybe she worried about their gossip too much – that had become abundantly clear when she finally decided that living with other people's opinions wasn't nearly as important as living with Beau Maverick. So she'd tracked him down and begged him to come back – and promised to be his wide.

Tonight she wasn't going to worry about any of that. It was a time to celebrate and be happy, and that's just what she intended to do – even if it killed her.

XXXXXXXX

Travis Cole was an enigma – a U.S. Federal Marshal who was 'marrying into' one of the biggest families of con-men and card sharps in the west – and he didn't much care who knew it. He loved Jody Mayfield with all his heart, something he swore he'd never do – and he was going to marry her, despite those in the town of Silver Creek who thought that an unwise decision on his part. He heard all the gossip and rumors surrounding the Maverick family; he'd certainly been made aware of their continuing run-ins with the law – but from everything he'd learned about all of them he'd come to understand that they were decent, honest men, not cheats and scoundrels like some town folk would have him believe. Jody was absolutely besotted with her 'brother' Bart and he had to trust her opinion; she was going to be his wife. Besides, the Mavericks had done nothing but good for this town – on more than one occasion. But the saloon – well, that was something else.

There'd been fights and beatings and brawls and murders in the saloon – and his fiancé owned the majority of the place. And that bothered him. A lot. So he'd asked her to make a choice – and she'd chosen him over her business. What more could a man ask for?

XXXXXXXX

Bret had mixed emotions about the whole thing. A party was one thing, a celebration of the kind that Georgia and Jody had organized – that was another entirely. He knew how quickly people's perceptions and opinions changed – the hometown hero today would be the town villain the next – and in his life it always helped to be prepared for the other shoe to drop; or, in the Mavericks case, the three to be dealt when you needed an ace. But he was going to be a good sport about it – he attended the merrymaking and pretended to enjoy it. Besides, it would make Jody happy – and that would make his brother happy. He understood how they'd gotten to be so close while Bart was in jail – he'd been gone much of the time, trying to track down the Sanborns and Rusty Meyers, and Beau had the burden of running the saloon all by himself – and Jody had been there, available to listen to Bart's darkest secrets and provide comfort to his wildest nightmares. Bart hated being the 'baby' of the family and always hoped for a sister – and Jody gave him one. They'd managed to stay close, despite the distance and time between them, and sometimes Bret was just a bit jealous of the relationship.

Jody was a good person. Of that there was no doubt. And she fulfilled a need when his brother was at the lowest point of his life. But he was there now, and had been for quite a while, and he wanted to be his brother's closest friend. And he was, for the most part. But every once in a while Bart would mention something that Jody had written in her latest letter and Bret felt a twinge of what? Guilt? Jealousy? Resentment?

Nope, put that thought out of his mind. Anything or anyone who made Bart feel loved and needed was a good thing. Bret just wished that it would be him, rather than Jody Mayfield.

XXXXXXXX

So the celebration continued, until the wee small hours of the morning, each person thinking of their own problems, their own resentments, their own needs. Trying, at the same time, to be what everyone else at the 'table of honor' needed. Would they succeed or fail? Only time would tell.


	7. Who Can it Be Now?

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 6 – Who Can it be Now?

Bret opened his eyes and looked around. Daylight was streaming in the window, and he distinctly remembered closing the shades last night. Then he saw why the shades were open – Marybeth Canton was standing at the window, looking out at the town-rapidly-changing-into-a-city, below.

"Come back to bed, darlin'" he called to her, patting the mattress next to him. She made no sound, just stood at the window and looked down. "Marybeth?"

"Hmmmmmm?"

"Bed – come back," he repeated, but she didn't move any more than she had the first time he called to her.

The wagon was already there, waiting in the street for her. Damn, she'd told him nine o'clock. Even after all these years he still didn't pay any attention to her. Maybe it was time to get out – before her picture was plastered on every jailhouse wall, with a headline above it that said "Wanted – For Bank Robbery and Murder" and below it – "Reward - $5,000 – Dead or Alive". Right now there was no reward and the banner was merely "Wanted for Questioning"; there was a very bad drawing of her. With blonde hair and exaggerated makeup. Probably what his brother had seen the last time he'd been thrown in a jail cell. She was almost unrecognizable in the drawing – almost.

She turned around to face him and made him smile. That's what most men did when she stood in front of them. Somehow he was different. Sweet and gentle, more concerned with her welfare than his own, he was tender and passionate at the same time. He held out his hand to her and she walked back to the bed and took it, climbing in beside him and back in to the warmth that was Bret Maverick. The man in the wagon downstairs would have to wait until she was good and ready.

XXXXXXXX

No sense knocking at his brother's door this morning – Bart knew exactly where he was and who he was with. Breakfast for one on the menu. Not the first time and certainly not the last – in fact, it had been a long time between women for Bret. Maybe his brother was slowing down.

Bart was surprised to find Beau sitting downstairs in the lobby waiting for him. "Why didn't you come up?" Bart asked as they headed for the dining room.

"Wasn't sure you'd be alone," was the reply. Beau grinned at him the way only Beau could – like he had a secret he was about to share with you. "I saw you talking to Frankie Slade last night and watched the way she was looking at you." Frankie was one of the newer girls at the saloon - tall and statuesque, with magnificent chestnut hair and a body most woman would kill to have. "Thought maybe you noticed it too."

"Oh, I noticed it, but nothing happening there," Bart answered back. "Brother Bret seems to be the only one the least bit fascinating to the ladies right now." _'Besides,'_ Bart thought to himself, _'I'm still thinking about Carson City.'_

"Lot of new girls at the saloon," Beau volunteered. "You ought to take a closer look."

"Not really interested," came the reply quickly; ' _A bit too quick,'_ Beau thought. _'Don't tell me Cousin Bart's in love again.'_

"You have a lady somewhere you're not telling me about?"

"Nada."

' _That'll be the day,'_ thought his cousin. The only one who attracted more women than Bret was his younger brother. Without trying.

"So why not give Frankie a chance?"

"Cousin Beau, you should learn to take no for an answer."

"Coffee?"

"Breakfast."

XXXXXXXX

It was well after nine o'clock when Bret woke again; Marybeth was sound asleep next to him and the sunlight wasn't as brilliant. He wondered what she'd been so fascinated with at the window; dressed, or rather undressed, as she had been. He slipped out of bed and she stretched and purred; at least that's what it sounded like. He got dressed quickly and left the room quietly; she didn't wake. Bret closed the door to the room and strode down the hall, desperate for some coffee. He knew better than to stop and see if Bart was up; his brother had long ago developed the awful habit of waking early and napping later in the day if necessary. Instead he went down to the dining room and ordered his usual; a double order of bacon, eggs and coffee.

When breakfast was done he went back up to his room, changed clothes and shaved. He happened to glance out the window and saw Marybeth down on the street arguing with a man sitting atop a wagon. From the look of things the argument had gotten quite heated, and suddenly Marybeth turned back towards the hotel and stormed inside, leaving the man with the wagon in the street. If that was her brother-in-law, why was she arguing with him? And why had she returned to the hotel instead of leaving with him? Something about her story wasn't quite right, but he was in no mood to find out what. His brother had insisted that she was familiar to him somehow and he'd all but ignored Bart. Maybe it was time to go push Brother Bart's memory and see if he could remember just why Marybeth was familiar. But first he had to find him. And that might not be so easy to do.

XXXXXXXX

Jody had arranged to meet Bart at her office in the saloon at ten o'clock. That time of the day would give her ample time to explain just what she'd done and why before most of the girls came in to work, just in case things got out of hand and there was any screaming and yelling going on. Not from Bart, from her. She'd never even heard him raise his voice to anyone, much less get as loud as she could when provoked. She was there by eight thirty, nervous as a cat and alternating between hoping he wouldn't show and scared to death he wouldn't show. When there was a knock on her door at ten minutes to ten she knew it was him.

When Jody finally took over the day-to-day operations of 'The Three Mavericks' she moved into the big office upstairs that had been Jessie's sanctuary. That way her mother could keep the smaller office downstairs that she was comfortable in and she would still have room to expand if necessary. The first thing she bought for the office was a new couch, where she slept many a night when there was too much work to do to go home. Once she started seeing Travis Cole it was simply easier to stay in town and sleep in her office; she could spend the time asleep instead of traveling home.

"Come in," she called out, and in just a few seconds Bart was in her office and there were more hugs and kisses between the two of them. "Let me really look at you," he told her, and held her at arm's length for a moment. "I can't believe you're getting married so soon."

She felt like Benedict Arnold. "Bart, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. Please sit down." Bart sat at one end of the couch, Jody at the other. He seemed so far away and her impulse was to sit closer; given the truth she had yet to tell him she thought maybe it was a good idea that she didn't.

"I'm not gonna bite, Jody," Bart told her. She felt guilty and moved closer. "What's the matter, baby girl?" She hadn't called him Bart in a long time; he knew something was wrong.

Best to just come out and say it. "I lied to you."

"Oooooooooooooookay."

"About the date of the wedding."

"Okay."

"It's not in June."

Bart sat and listened without saying anything. He knew Jody well enough to know there was a reason behind the lie. Slowly he asked her, "Why did you tell me June sixteenth?"

She looked down at her hands, which were nervously rubbing themselves raw, one against the other. "I – uh – I needed – oh – uh . . . . . "

Bart sat patiently, waiting for her to give him an answer. Finally she did. "I needed to talk to you."

"You could have written me a letter."

"Not the same," she replied.

"True. So here I am. Talk to me."

She cleared her throat. "Travis asked me two questions the night he proposed."

Seemed odd to Bart, but then he'd never proposed to anyone. "I assume one of the questions was about marrying him. What was the other question?"

"If I'd sell the saloon when I became his wife."


	8. A Different Kind of Man

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 7 – A Different Kind of Man

"Sell the saloon?"

"That's what he asked me."

Bart thought about the questions Travis had asked Jody. "Will you marry me?" followed by "And will you sell the saloon?" What happened if you said 'yes' to the first and 'no' to the second?

"What did you tell him?"

Jody couldn't look at Bart as she gave him her answer. "That I would."

No wonder she didn't want to tell him this in a letter. _'Hi, I'm getting married and I'm selling the family business, you know, the one you and your brother gave me?'_

Bart watched her as she waited for him to say something. Is this what she was so upset about? Telling him that she was selling the saloon? After saving the business had almost cost his life? Did she realize the price he'd paid to keep 'The Three Mavericks' open and running? Did she care?

Of course she did; that answer was obvious from the struggle she appeared to be having with the decision. But is this what was really bothering her?

"Then what's the problem, Jody? You gave the man the answer he wanted to hear; you agreed to marry him and sell. What's wrong?"

She remained silent and motionless, save the constant hand rubbing as she sat in front of him. A knock on the door saved her as Bret let himself into the office.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Bart sighed and shook his head 'no.' "Nothing urgent. Which one of us do you need?"

Bret knew his brother well enough to know he was unhappy about something. Downstairs the sound of shattering glass could be heard, and Bart took it as an omen. Already the fragile peace was broken. "Brother Bart, can we talk for a minute? I won't be long."

Bart got up from the couch and looked right at Jody as he told his brother, "Sure. This will wait." Then he followed Bret out the door and down the hall to the stairs. They walked down to the bar and one of the new bartenders from last night poured coffee. Alvin already had them trained. Bart picked up a cup and waited to hear what was so urgent.

"Remember the feeling that you knew Marybeth from somewhere?"

"Sure."

"I need you to remember where."

Bart laughed. "If I knew where I would have told you by now. Why is this so important all of a sudden?"

"Last night – I told you she was leaving this morning."

"Yep."

Bret had a habit of making things that weren't dramatic sound that way sometimes. "She didn't leave."

The younger gambler took another drink of coffee. "Why is that important? People change their minds all the time."

"She told me her brother-in-law was comin' to get her. This morning I saw her arguing with a man in the street. He was drivin' a wagon, and she didn't go with him." Bret finally picked up his coffee cup and practically drained it, then set it back on the bar and continued. "I need to know who she is. Why you know her. What's really goin' on."

"Why don't you just ask her?" Bart didn't understand the subterfuge. If she really was a young widow named Marybeth Canton, what harm would it do? And if she wasn't, what was she after? Certainly not money; they were _**gamblers**_. Maybe she'd gotten the wrong idea at the party last night and thought Bret had money. Or that his family did. That notion was easy enough to disprove. But the man needed to talk to her. Or were they too busy when they were together to talk?

"Because you're my brother and I trust you. If you think there's something going on, there probably is. I've learned not to ignore your feelin's."

Bart was grateful for the knowledge that his brother listened to him, but had no further memory of Mrs. Canton. "Brother Bret – it's real simple. I don't know why she looks familiar. I can't help you. You have to ask her yourself."

It was Bret's turn to sigh. "Alright. Thanks anyway." He took one last swallow of coffee and finished the cup, then turned and headed out the batwing doors.

Bart finished his coffee, too, and headed back upstairs to continue his very odd talk with Jody. He'd already resigned himself to the fact that she had every intention of selling the saloon and he thought about the fifteen thousand dollars he'd wired ahead to Silver Creek. That wouldn't be anywhere near enough to buy her out. This visit was not turning out as expected, at all.

XXXXXXXX

Considering that the majority of the townsfolk were awake and drunk until all hours of the morning, everything had stayed pretty quiet so far today. Only one incident, and that was when Jeb Kincaid, still celebrating from last night, accidentally shot himself in the right foot. He insisted it was a badger and not his foot he'd shot at, but Mrs. Kincaid said he couldn't see very well anymore and doubted there'd been a badger at all. Travis had taken him over to the clinic and let Dr. Dooley handle the matter. No sense in arresting a man who'd shot only himself.

He hadn't seen Jody this morning – she told him last night she had a meeting at ten o'clock that might run long and not to wait lunch for her. She hadn't said who she was meeting with; that wasn't like her, and Travis suspected it was one of the Maverick brothers. If he was a betting man he would have put his money on Bart.

Despite their chosen professions being at odds with each other he liked the brothers, particularly Bret, whom he'd gotten to know when Bart was in jail awaiting trial. He hadn't had much interaction with the younger brother, Bart, only in relation to Jody and saloon business. He and Bart were about the same age, and that was where the similarities ended. Except for one major point on which they both agreed – that Jody Mayfield was a fine young woman. Their love for her differed only in the kind of love it was – romantic versus brotherly. At least that's what everyone assumed Bart's to be – brotherly love. Travis harbored some doubts on the subject.

Maybe that's why he wanted Jody to sell her interest in the saloon when she married him. With no business to bind them together, there would be no reason for Bart to come around. And no potential competition for Jody's affections. Even if she did insist he was only her brother.

So this morning Travis Cole was feeling pretty good about everything – the town was quiet, Jody and he were going to be married, and the saloon would one day be nothing but a distant memory. And Bart Maverick with it. He had no idea how much he would owe the gambler before it was all over.

XXXXXXXX

Connie Everly sat on the hard wagon seat and continued to argue with Percy Lutz. "All I'm doing is coming out to get my share," she told him for the third time. Percy continued to shake his head.

"Just ain't no way Logan's gonna let you leave and go back to that little hole in the wall. You an' me both know that, Miz Connie. So's you might as well resign yourself to that fact." The back road out of Silver Creek was still rutted and rough from the previous winter snows; the horses were doing their best but it was tenuous going.

"He's got no hold on me, Percy. If I wanna go, I'll go." She folded her arms in front of her, just as stubborn as always. She and Logan were a match made in hell, or some other far reaches of the universe. She ran away; he brought her back. They robbed another bank, they lived high off the hog until funds got low, then they left for a new state and started all over again. Until the last job in Mississippi, no one had ever associated the pretty dance hall girl with the surly gunslinger. They came and went at different times, in different places, with different people.

But something had gotten mixed up during the last bank job and now Connie was wanted for questioning; they'd finally worn out their welcome in Louisiana and the Bayou and knew it was time to move on to a different neck of the woods. Logan had fled all the way to Montana; Connie was supposed to follow but got detained in New Orleans when some cowpoke recognized her and turned her in. She'd been lucky that Percy was still around; he helped her evade the U.S. Marshals looking for her and make the stage headed for Memphis.

She was tired. Always running, watching her back to make sure nobody got too close, never having friends or a normal life or even a cat, there was something different about the gambler she met on the stage coach. And when his brother boarded in Memphis she was ready for a change. So now she was determined that it was over; she was done running and planning bank robberies and anything else they could think up to make money; she was tired of drifting from man to man and never having one to call her own, except Logan, and he was no great prize. She'd found one that was good and decent and kind, and thought of her before he thought of himself, and he wasn't a boring banker or bookkeeper. He was a gambler, a man that didn't stay too long in one place, a man with a drifter's heart and a lover's soul. And she was going to do whatever it took to make Bret Maverick hers. Whatever it took.


	9. The Changing Tide

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 8 – The Changing Tide

When Bart came back to Jody's office she was behind her desk. "I didn't know how long you'd be gone."

"Trust Bret to want answers that I don't have. Telling him I don't know never takes very long."

She looked surprised. "You're still talking to me."

"KInda hard not to."

"Even after what I told you?"

Bart sat down in front of her desk. "It's your saloon, Jody. The decision is yours to make."

"That's the point, Bartley. I don't want to sell the saloon."

Bart almost laughed out loud. "You've got a problem."

She shook her head in despair and did laugh, a sad, hollow sort of laugh. "Don't I know it? That's why I needed you here. I don't know what to do."

He got up and started pacing around the room. "Let me get this straight. Travis asked you to marry him. You said yes. Then he asked you to sell the saloon. You said yes again. But you don't want to sell the saloon. What happens if you tell Marshal Cole you aren't going to sell?"

A very quiet little voice answered him. "I don't know."

"Are you sure you don't want to sell?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

There was something for her to consider. "What if he calls off the wedding?"

She put her hands down on her desk and laid her head on her hands. "That's what I'm afraid of."

He'd circled the room and stopped next to her desk. She jumped up and wrapped herself around him, desperately needing the comfort of her brother's arms. He held her close to him as she wailed, "I don't know what to do!"

Jody finally burst into tears and clung to Bart for dear life. She sobbed and sobbed, all the pent up emotions of the past few weeks pouring out of her like the incoming tide of a frantic ocean. He patted her head and smoothed down her hair. "Shhhh, shhhh, it's alright. We'll get it worked out." He rocked her back and forth as she continued to weep. With their backs to the office door, neither saw it open; it remained open for just a minute and then quietly closed.

Bart cradled her in his arms and continued rocking her as the crying slowly decreased and then abated. Finally the hiccups started and kept up until they both began laughing. Bart released his grasp on her and she folded back down into her chair, hiccupping and laughing at the same time.

"Gee, that was fun!" Jody giggled and sounded like the young girl he'd first met in the hotel hallway.

Bart sat down on the edge of her desk. "Feel better now?"

She gulped, swallowed and shook her head. "Yes, I do."

"You've got a decision to make, when to discuss this with Travis."

On impulse she asked him, "Can you have dinner with me tonight?"

"Sure." They both laughed again over the use of his second favorite word. "Seven o'clock at the hotel? My room for privacy?"

"I'll be there with my appetite. Still eat it medium-well. But no coffee for me."

"A bottle of wine?" He offered as a concession.

"Yes." She stood up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "I'll be there. And Bartley? Thank you."

He tipped his hat, which he had just put back on. "You're welcome. See you tonight." Three steps and he was out the door.

Jody sat there for a few minutes, reflecting on the past hour and all that had happened. Then she shook her head, laughed and went back to work.

XXXXXXXX

Travis Cole watched from the barber shop window as he waited for a haircut. He'd gone to the saloon to surprise Jody – when he opened the door to her office and saw her in Maverick's arms he was the one surprised. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since the town had toasted their upcoming wedding; a hot fire of jealousy and disgust rose up though his stomach and into his heart. How dare Maverick hold her in his arms like that.

In fear and anger he closed the door and fled – back down the stairs, out into the street, finally seeking refuge from the vision seared into his brain in the barber shop, where he could take cover and gain control of his emotions. He'd imagined it – no, he hadn't. He'd seen it with his own eyes, right there in her office. It was supposed to be a meeting. How could she betray him like that?

He scowled out the window as the gambler left the saloon, walking back up the sidewalk to the hotel, kicking up dirt as he went. Why couldn't he stay away? Why did he have to come back and ruin everything? Why didn't the town hang him when they had the chance? He wondered what he was going to do, what he could do. What he was capable of doing.

XXXXXXXX

Logan Doran had heard this all before. Every time Connie got tired of moving around she threatened to quit. And every time she changed her mind and stayed. Why should this time be any different?'

For some odd reason he believed it might be. For one thing, she was acting differently. Usually she was screaming and raging; yelling that this was no kind of life for a woman and threatening to turn him in to the nearest marshal. Normally his words and his attention could calm her down; sooth the wild storm she had become by promising her that the next haul would be bigger; the next town would have a bank with enough money to keep them in luxury the rest of their days; just one more job and they would quit forever and go to San Francisco to live out their lives.

This time Connie was calm, almost nonchalant about the last job. She simply wanted her cut so she could be on her way, back to that little hell hole Percy had just rescued her from. Then he listened to her and knew what was going on in her mind – she'd found a man, one who treated her like a lady and was everything she wanted – for now.

Let her go. She'd done nothing but make him crazy for the last year; he could run the bank scheme by himself at this point., with minor help from Percy. She wouldn't be gone long – it was cold and hard out there in the real world, and as soon as she had to face some of those realities she'd be back. And he'd be waiting for her, like he always was.


	10. A Little Wine and a Lot of Guilt

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 9 – A Little Wine and a Lot of Guilt

How could a woman that looked like Marybeth Canton vanish? That's the question Bret Maverick kept asking himself the rest of the morning. All he knew for certain was that she hadn't checked out of the hotel and no one in town had seen her. The last glimpse he had was when she walked away from the man in the wagon she'd been arguing with and back into the hotel. Then – gone.

He finally gave up and went to the new barbershop for a haircut. Might as well do something productive, since he was up. Travis Cole was there with the same idea and they chatted amicably for a few minutes before the marshal asked him a strange question: "Does your brother have a lady friend stashed away somewhere?"

Bret wasn't sure what kind of an answer to give Cole. "Maybe. I'm not sure. Bart's awful close-mouthed about things like that. Why?"

"Oh, just thinking. It's a shame to be giving the bride away and be all alone at the wedding." Cole smiled and the tone of his voice was casual, inquisitive.

"Brother Bart will do just fine. He usually does," Bret answered.

"A real ladies man, eh?"

Why was the marshal so interested in his brother's love life? "From his standpoint – no. From the woman's point of view – my brother attracts his fair share. You got somebody in mind?"

"No, nobody in mind. Just curious." Travis changed the subject, not willing to push any further and be obvious.

The marshal left and Bret settled in to the barber's chair. "Cole come in often?" he questioned as the man spread a barbers cape around him.

"Oh sure," came the reply. "But I wasn't expectin' him today. Was just here a couple weeks ago."

"Oh? Come in for a reason, did he?"

The barber stopped cutting and asked point blank, "You know Travis well?"

The gambler laughed. "I should. He's marrying my sister."

"Oh, you're one of the Mavericks'!"

"I've been accused of worse," he answered, laughing.

"Well, heck, that's kin! Travis – don't know why he came in today. Just kind of hurried in and watched somthin' out my window. Didn't look none too happy about it, either."

"You see where he came from?" Maverick curiosity had taken over, and Bret wanted to know why Travis was disturbed – he'd shown no signs of that when they were talking.

"Why, right across the street. He came from the saloon. Must a been visitin' his fiancé."

Now what could have upset the marshal so – the only people in the saloon at this hour were the new bartender, Jody, and his brother. Maybe the barber had it wrong. Well, nothing to be concerned about. Probably just 'marshal' business. Back to wondering about Marybeth.

XXXXXXXX

Georgia was waiting for Beau when he rode up. "What did you find out?" She couldn't bear for him to get inside before asking.

"Nothing," came his answer. "I told you it was too soon."

"Darn," his ladylove offered in reply. "I thought sure she'd want to talk right away."

"Did you ever stop to think that Bart wouldn't tell me, even if they had talked?"

"No. Why wouldn't he tell you?"

"Maybe because I live with her mother?" Beau laughed, surprised at how naïve Georgia could be at times.

"Oh. I never thought of that. Don't you all tell each other . . . . . everything?"

"No." Honestly, where did women get some of these ideas?

He crossed the porch and swept her up into his arms. "Georgia Mayfield, I love you." Then he kissed her and smiled, happy and secure with the woman he adored.

"Beau Maverick, you're . . . . . incorrigible," she laughed. "I have to know what's bothering my daughter."

"Why don't you try asking her?" It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to him.

"Because she won't tell me!"

He whirled her around and kissed her again. "Maybe she thinks it's none of your business."

She backed out of his embrace. "But I'm her mother!"

"Yes, and she's soon to be married. She's not a little girl anymore."

Indignant now. "I know that!"

Skeptical. "Do you?"

"Yes!"

There was no escaping him as he gathered her back into his arms. "Prove it to me."

Standing on the porch of their home, Georgia Mayfield kissed Beau Maverick for all she was worth. It left both of them breathless and laughing. "Convinced?"

"No," he told her, "prove it again!"

And she did, as he swept her up and carried her back into the house.

XXXXXXXX

Bart stopped into the hotel dining room and arranged for steak dinners and a bottle of the finest wine the hotel had to offer. All to be delivered to his room; the wine at 6:30, the food at 7:30. That should give them plenty of time to talk. He'd been greatly relieved when Jody announced her decision to keep the saloon; he just hoped that the marshal would understand, and that it wouldn't cost her the marriage.

He was tired but energized at the same time. He didn't even mind that they'd been called to Montana six weeks early; New Orleans was getting old and stale and it was reassuring to know that somebody needed him. That made him think about Rose Garrett and Carson City and he sat down and wrote her a long letter. He missed her; he couldn't deny that. He wanted her to know that without obligating her in any way. Maybe someday he'd be willing to take that next step – just not now.

He had the desk clerk draw him a bath, but this time when there was a knock at his door to announce it was ready he answered it with gun drawn and scared the poor man to death. Bart was taking no chances with a repeat of the trauma from two years ago and didn't mind in the least tipping an extra dollar just to make up for being armed and cautious.

At 6:30 exactly the bottle of wine was delivered from the dining room along with two glasses and everything needed for dinner but the food. By the time Jody's knock came at a few minutes to seven Bart was really looking forward to their evening. He opened the door and she took his breath away – once again he was reminded of what a beautiful young woman she was. She looked older, with her hair up, almost old enough to get married, and he couldn't resist telling her so. They had a good laugh and he poured them both a glass of the wine before sitting down on the couch with her. "Here's to the wedding," he toasted, and a frown crossed her face. 'Wrong toast?" he asked.

"No," she took a sip from her glass, "it's just that I haven't decided what to tell Travis yet."

"What or when?"

"When has to be soon. I have to know that we're alright before we get any closer to August."

"Seems to me that 'what' is pretty well set in stone. Not too many ways you can say 'I'm not selling my business. Get over it or get out'."

She looked at him, mildly irritated. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

He shook his head. "Maybe, but it's the truth, isn't it? If you're not prepared to go that far then you really don't want to keep the saloon open."

Another sip of wine while she considered his opinion. "I guess you're right. But that makes me wonder – will I really tell him good-bye if he won't change his mind?"

He took her glass and set it on the table along with his, then poured both of them more wine. "That's a question only you can answer." He handed her back the glass. "Who's gonna be in charge of Jody Mayfield's life – Travis Cole or Jody Mayfield?"

"But I love him!" she protested.

"Hmmmpf. Do you?" He continued standing and walked over to the window, looking out into the street and watching the comings and goings this late in the day. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why do you ask that? Don't you think I do?" Was Bart trying to confuse her or was she doing that all by herself?

"I'm trying to get you to decide if you do or not."

"What?"

"Do you love the marshal or not?" He'd pushed her this far, he might as well push her all the way.

Now she was mad. "Of course!"

"If you had to choose between spending the rest of your life with Travis Cole or spending it running 'The Three Mavericks,' which would you choose?" He turned his back to the window and advanced towards her, almost physically forcing her into a response.

Jody opened her mouth to give him her answer – 'With Travis, of course' - and found she couldn't. The realization stopped her cold. Now it was Jody's turn to get up off the couch and walk to the far side of the room. When she could finally speak the only words that would come out were, "Damn, Bart!"

It made him laugh, an unexpected reaction. "I've no doubt somebody will."

Out of nowhere there was a knock on the door. Dinner had arrived.


	11. Fools in Love

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 10 – Fools in Love

It was almost six o'clock when Bret got back to the hotel. He'd done a lot of nothing most of the day, and was surprised when he realized it was so late and the day was gone. On a whim he stopped at Marybeth's door and knocked, not expecting an answer but trying anyway. He was surprised when she came to the door, and even more surprised when he took a close look at her. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy; she'd been crying for quite a while, obviously. Her jacket was on but unbuttoned; her hat sat crooked atop her dark hair, which was starting to come loose from atop her head. She opened the door wider and he gathered her into his arms and held her. The crying started all over again and he stepped inside her room and closed the door behind him, never letting go of her. Her suitcase was open on the bed, half packed or half unpacked, he couldn't tell which.

"Darlin', darlin', stop now." He attempted to soothe her but it seemed to have no effect. She moaned profusely as he sat down on the end of the bed and continued to hold her; she remained in his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her sobs drowned the collar of his ruffled shirt in a torrent of tears. All he could do was hold her so she wouldn't fall to the floor while she wept.

After a few minutes she began to choke and cough in between her sobs and was forced to stop crying just so she could breathe. Her face was buried in his neck; when she finally pulled away from him a little he pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and began to dry her tears. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"It's . . . my . . . sister . . . . she . . . . doesn't . . . . want me ," came out in pieces and between choking, gasping sobs. She was shaking and her hat was falling down into her eyes. Bret reached up with a free hand and removed it from her head, setting it down on the bed behind them.

Slowly she began to calm down, and he waited a few more minutes before asking, "What do you mean she doesn't want you? Was that your bother-in-law this morning in the street? Is that why you were arguing with him?"

She nodded her head 'yes.' "That was him . . . Percy Lutz. My sister's . . . name is . . . Sarah. Sarah Lutz."

"Why doesn't she want you there, Marybeth? What's she afraid of?"

"That I'll steal Percy!" she wailed, and she burst into tears all over again.

It took Bret a few minutes to settle her down so she was capable of talking again. "Can't you go back down south?" he asked

"No," she told him. "We lived in a hotel. I moved out."

"What about your husband's restaurants? Can't you sell your interest in those?"

"Peter was only a partial owner. By the time we settled his debts there was nothing left. I have no money and nowhere to go."

She laid her head back on his shoulder as he continued to hold her. Now what? If she had nowhere to go and no money to get there, what would she do? She couldn't live in the street. Maybe he could find a place for her. "Maybe I can help. We'll pay your bill in the morning and you can stay with me while I try to find a home for you. If that's alright with you."

"Thank you," she whispered quietly, and kissed him chastely on the cheek, then snuggled her head back down into his shoulder so that he couldn't see the little smile that played very subtly around the corners of her mouth.

XXXXXXXX

They'd had too much wine, and too much food, and too little rest. When Jody fell asleep while they were talking, Bart simply took a pillow off his bed and laid it under her head, then covered her with a blanket and let her sleep. He laid down on his bed after untying his tie and unbuttoning and removing his vest, then taking off the shoulder holster and laying it in the bed next to him. The boots were the last thing to come off. Just like sleeping on the stage coach, only he got to lie flat. It wasn't a minute before Bart was asleep, too, and they stayed that way all night.

The morning light woke him, shining brightly into the room as the sun came up. He automatically reached for the shoulder holster; it was still where he'd left it last night. So was Jody; she hadn't even rolled over where she lay on the couch. Gradually it dawned on him that there might be people wondering where she was; what if her mother and Beau expected her home and she never showed up? And what about Travis? Did he know where she was?

Bart got up, rumpled, and stumbled over to the couch. "Jody, Jody honey, wake up," he murmured to her softly, shaking her shoulder gently.

"Mmmmhmmm," she moaned, but slowly opened her eyes as he continued to shake her shoulder. "Bartley?" she sat up quickly, suddenly awake. "Where am I?"

"Where you were last night," he answered carefully. "In my room."

"Oh my God," she jumped to her feet, dropping the blanket and swaying slightly. "I have to leave."

"Not by yourself," Bart told her. "Give me a minute and I'll take you down to the saloon." He shuffled back to the bed and put his boots back on, then the shoulder holster. He took his gun belt off of the chair next to the bed and put it on next, then his coat and finally his hat. He ignored the pounding in his head; whether it was from the wine or just because made no difference, there was nothing he could do to ease the pain. He put his arm around Jody protectively and they left the room; he locked the door behind them. They walked carefully down the stairs and out into the street, and even though it was very early the town was already awake. Many late nights and early mornings he'd walked up or down this sidewalk, but it seemed strange to be escorting Jody to the saloon. Once there she unlocked the heavy front doors and Bart pushed them open for her. He kissed her on the cheek and waited while she got inside, then closed the doors again so she could lock them. He turned and moved up the street, back to the hotel dining room, where he ordered toast and coffee. He had no idea that the entire trip down and back was seen by a very unhappy man, already at work in the marshal's office. There would be hell to pay, and sooner rather than later.

XXXXXXXX

Another day and he was back at the clinic. Everything had proceeded just the way he hoped for, maybe even better than expected, in the two years he'd been in Silver Creek. Both the town and the clinic had expanded so rapidly that he'd taken in a partner sooner than planned; Dr. Kerrigan Thomas, a skilled surgeon and the man that handled the afternoon's patients. He, Beckham Dooley, M.D., staffed the offices in the mornings. That arrangement had worked out fine until he'd started courting Jody Mayfield, and then there weren't enough hours in the day to accomplish everything that needed to be done. Slowly he'd fallen in love with the young, spirited woman, and his soul was almost crushed beyond repair when she'd accepted Travis Cole's proposal of marriage before he'd had a chance to ask her to marry him.

Dooley straightened his tie and unlocked the front door. He wondered what the day would bring; another inebriated homesteader like Jeb Kincaid, who'd been shuttled in for treatment by the bridegroom-to-be himself? He hoped not; it was bad enough that the clinic was almost across the street from the jail, he didn't want to see Marshal Cole any more than absolutely necessary. It was too painful. Each sighting brought a reminder of what he'd lost to the man. Why had he waited so long? He should have proposed months before Travis did; but he wanted the clinic to be on firmer financial ground when he finally asked her. He snorted; so much for good intentions.

The worst part, he realized, was the idea that the rumors he'd heard around town were true. Cole had made it well-known that no wife of his would run a saloon. Beckham had no such notions – Jody loved the place like it was her child and he would never ask her to give it up. But the marshal had, and it was quietly known amongst townsfolk that 'The Three Mavericks' was for sale.

And now it looked like the damn wedding was really going to happen. Jody's 'brothers', the actual namesake Mavericks, had arrived, and preparations appeared to be in full swing. He had one chance left; a longshot at that, he knew full well, but he had to take it. If he didn't and Jody married Cole she would be lost to him forever. That's why he'd asked Dr. Thomas to come to the clinic early today, so he could go talk to the one person that might hold sway over Jody's decision to marry the wrong man – her brother, Bart Maverick. He was nervous and anxious – he hadn't met either of the gamblers, but he knew the full story behind their trials and tribulations in Silver Creek. Doc Washburn had filled him in on everything Maverick quite a while back.

It was a fascinating tale, he had to admit. If not emotionally, then at least medically. Doc had never been able to determine a cause behind Bart's apparent seizures; Beck suspected an allergy of some sort. Possible causes – the laudanum or the aspirin given so freely, without any concern for side effects. Even if he hadn't been in love with Jody he'd have wanted an audience with the patient, but Jody's ties to the man made his contact all the more urgent. Everything that would affect the rest of his life depended on the meeting today. Where was Doctor Thomas?

Then he pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the time. Only eight o'clock. Kerrigan wouldn't be here until ten. He was surprised it was still so early; he'd seen the brother walking up from the saloon and returning to the hotel. Didn't gamblers work at night and sleep during the day? Or was it too soon after their arrival to be playing poker? He was confused, nervous and frustrated. Everything he normally felt whenever he saw the red-haired beauty. _'Jody,'_ his mind wailed, _'couldn't you have waited? Didn't you know I love you?'_

" _Stop it, Beckham,'_ he chastised himself. _'Be a man. No begging or pleading. Present your case rationally and professionally. Maintain your dignity at all costs. Behave.'_

He stood still at the door to his office before going in and resuming the update he'd started on his records last night. There was a time to gather your emotions together and act like an adult. Keep yourself occupied with something productive until you could go to your meeting. Stay busy and the time will pass quickly.

Yeah, fat chance of that.


	12. Doctor Dooley, I Presume

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 11 – Doctor Dooley, I Presume

Before Bart went back up to his room the desk clerk stopped him. "I have a message for you, Mr. Maverick."

Bart took the note and climbed the stairs. _'Dear Mr. Maverick – I would like to request some of your time today. I have two urgent matters to speak to you about. If it is convenient for you, I can be at your hotel around 10:15. Please let me know if this is acceptable. Yours most sincerely, Beckham Dooley, M.D.'_

Hmmm. The physician that had taken over for Doc Washburn. Bart wondered what the 'two urgent matters' were. Well, only one way to find out. He unlocked his door and decided to pay the doctor a visit a little earlier than scheduled. Within an hour's time he was shaved, changed, and on his way to see the newly expanded 'Dooley-Thomas Silver Creek Clinic'.

XXXXXXXX

Marshal Travis watched the gambler enter the clinic and wondered what he was up to. He hadn't paid much attention to Beckham Dooley since Jody had agreed to marry him; there was no need to. Now to watch the man he'd developed a reasonable hate for visit his one-time rival unnerved him. It was bad enough this morning when he saw Maverick take his fiancée back to the saloon; all too obvious that she'd spent the night with her so-called 'brother.' Now that same snake-in-the-grass was likely going to stir up more trouble. He really did have to do something about the card sharp besides worry.

"Jenkins, I'm going on rounds. Keep an eye out for trouble, would ya'?" He didn't wait for an answer from the new man, just adjusted his holster and left. Rounds gave him a good excuse to not only check on Jody, but to stop in at the clinic and see what he could sniff out. Best to handle the situation before it got away from him. He loved the woman, that much was certain. But slowly into that love crept the need to control her, to be in charge of her every waking moment. He'd gotten everything he wanted thus far, he wasn't about to let it all slip away when it was within his grasp.

He walked through the town, checking doors and saying hello to people he knew. Everyone liked him – he was such an improvement over the previous sheriff. His dark side was unseen by the people of the town – even Jody. The most he'd let her glimpse it was when he asked her to sell the saloon. Even then he'd reveled very little – the request to avoid the apparent 'conflict of interest' between law and disorder – and he'd felt no need to expose anything more.

This gambler was pushing him further than he liked. As soon as he knew exactly what was going on it would be necessary to devise a plan of action. And it was beginning to look like the doctor might have to be included in that plan. Well, best to go see exactly what he could find out from Jody. He needed all the facts before he could act.

XXXXXXXX

Beau got to the saloon and unlocked the doors. He was inside waiting to see who the bartender would be for the day when he heard noise upstairs and realized that Jody was already at work. Must have spent the night on the couch in her office; she hadn't made it out to the ranch last night. That was happening more and more frequently; the closer she got to the wedding the longer the hours she worked. He wasn't thrilled with the idea that Georgia would be assuming a great deal of those hours once Jody and Travis were married; at least temporarily. The idea was for Georgia to assume Jody's duties and train Lettie to take over her job.

Since neither Alvin nor any of the other bartenders were here yet, Beau made a pot of coffee before going upstairs. He had a tendency to do whatever needed to be done to keep the place running smoothly. That included directing the high-stakes poker table that Bret had originally taken over. It kept Beau playing poker while allowing him the freedom he needed to take trips to Denver or wherever the mood might strike him.

Once the coffee was done he poured two cups and went up to Jody's office. She was standing in front of Jessie's big window, the one she had installed not long before she got sick. It gave a view of the entire valley and the beautiful Big Snowy Mountain range that stretched out behind it. She must have been lost in thought because she didn't turn around when he entered. Beau set a cup down and walked up behind her with the other. She swiveled her head and reached for the coffee. "Thanks, Beau." A sip or two later and she added, "Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate everything you do around here?"

"Regularly, Jody," he answered appreciatively. Who knew he would ever be content in a small Montana town, waiting to marry the love of his life? And about to inherit a step-daughter? But something wasn't right here, and for Georgia's sake he needed to find out what it was. "Jody? What's bothering you?"

Was it that obvious? She was well aware of the fact that Beau really cared about her and her welfare, but he couldn't be expected to keep her confidences when he was going to marry her mother. She turned to him with a smile and said, a little too cheerfully, "Just nerves. I'll be fine."

"Jody, if you need to talk I won't tell your mother. Honestly. I know how to bluff at poker, remember?"

She had to smile at that; bless his heart, Beau was only trying to help. "I know, Beau. Really, I'm fine."

He knew it was futile to insist she trust him – she did, but still, it was her mother. "Okay. If you change your mind I'll be downstairs."

She gave him a dazzling smile and turned back to the window. Beau couldn't help being concerned, things seemed to be going downhill rapidly ever since his cousins' arrival. At this rate none of them would make it to August first. He didn't know how close to the truth he was.

XXXXXXXX

"Mr. Maverick, I didn't expect you in person." Beckham had rushed out of his office as soon as Mrs. Pringle told him there was someone to see him. "I – I was going to come to your hotel." He stuck out his hand to warmly shake with the man that Jody Mayfield held in such high esteem.

Both of the Mavericks excelled at reading people – you had to if you were going to be a successful gambler – and he liked Beckham Dooley right away. There was something sincere and genuine about the man; he was really surprised that Bart had shown up at his office.

"I've got more time to spare than you do, Doctor. Too many people in this town need you."

"Please, come to my office, Mr. Maverick."

"Bart, please. Even my Pappy doesn't answer to Mr. Maverick anymore." He followed the doctor back to a small office that was crammed with books and papers. There was one lone chair in front of the desk and Bart tucked his coattails and sat down.

There was no wasted space in this room. Every square inch had something important in it. The doctor sat back down behind his desk and looked – Bart would have sworn to this – terrified. "I was curious about the note you sent to my hotel."

"The note – oh yes, the note – I didn't know if you would have any free time so soon after your return to town. I really appreciate your concern about my time." Dooley was young for a doctor – usually by the time a town got a new doctor he was old and worn down by the rigors of medicine in the west. He was dark haired, like Bart, but had the bluest eyes Maverick had ever seen. A quick smile and a warm manner were part of his persona, and he was tall and thin like the gambler. A fine looking man, all in all. And there was no wedding ring in evidence.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Dr. Dooley?"

"Please . . . . . Bart, call me Beck. All my friends do."

That was a good beginning, an indication of proffered friendship. "Alright, Beck, what can I do for you?"

The next thing he heard was not at all what he expected. "Help me convince your sister to marry me instead of Travis Cole."


	13. Down for the Count

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 12 – Down for the Count

"Uh – "

"Too much too soon?" The doctor asked.

"You could have eased your way into that."

"My parents taught me to be direct. Forgetting that is what's gotten me into this position. I won't make the same mistake twice."

Bart broke the serious mood with a fit of laughter. Beckham Dooley, M.D., sitting behind his desk, couldn't help but smile. He'd never known any gamblers before, and he liked this one. A lot. The man had kind eyes and a sense of humor. No wonder Jody loved him.

"I'm sorry, Beck. I didn't mean to laugh, you were just too serious. But you are serious, aren't you?"

The doctor looked down at his desk, then back up with the smile still on his face. "Very serious."

'Tell me everything" Bart reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a cigar. "Do you mind?"

The doctor shook his head. "Go right ahead." He'd inherited Doc Washburn's affinity for coffee and had a half pot sitting on a shelf behind his desk, still hot. He pulled out a cup and asked, 'Would you like one?"

That was the magic question as far as Bart was concerned. "Sure."

Beck started to plead his case as he poured coffee. "I asked Jody out first. She was everything I ever wanted in a woman; funny, smart, wise beyond her years. She loves kids and animals. She rides like she was born on a horse. I don't know, maybe she was. She loves everyone she meets and everyone loves her. And I did, too. But I let my pride get in the way. I wanted the clinic to be successful. The town was growing so fast, and there were new people, and babies being born, and children breaking bones, and I was needed in six places at once. And I spent more time with the practice than Jody. She's not a woman you can ignore for long. And Travis didn't ignore her. He paid attention to her and wooed her; he did all the things I should have." He gave Bart the full cup and poured one for himself. "And by the time I realized what I was doing, Cole had swooped in and asked her to be his wife."

He shook his head, as if to shake out the bad memories. "I was stupid. Nothing is worth as much as Jody. I've never met anyone like her and I never will. I want us to have babies and grandchildren and sit on the porch and rock when we're old, and laugh at all the stupid things we did along the way. I want to be with her until the day I die. And I want her to be happy in everything she does, and do whatever she wants to do with her life. And if that includes her running the saloon forever, then that's what I want for her." He stopped and looked at Bart; tears stood in his eyes. "There's nobody else in the world but Jody. If she marries him he's going to make her miserable. He wants her to be what he wants her to be; I want her to be what she wants to be. Please help me make her see that."

Bart looked at the doctor, this man that had just bared his soul, and asked him one very important question. "Have you told Jody all this?"

For an intelligent man, Beckham Dooley felt like an idiot. He hung his head, almost afraid to look up. Finally, very softly, he answered, "No."

Bart set the empty cup on the desk. "I can't help you, Beck. All those things you just told me – I'm the wrong person. You have to tell Jody."

"What if she laughs at me?" The question was full of pain and fear.

Bart shook his head. "She won't. I learned a long time ago – honesty and truth are the most important things in the world to that young lady. She needs to know how you feel. And she needs to know now."

"How do you feel about it?" It was a loaded question, and Beckham knew it.

Bart chuckled. "I'd marry you but I don't think that's what you're after."

The doctor shook his head and laughed. "No, not quite."

"Then I suggest you go see my sister as fast as possible. Don't wait until tomorrow. Go now."

"Really? Right now?"

"Really, right now."

The doctor stood up and reached across the desk to shake hands again with Bart. "Thanks, Bart. That means a lot."

"I thought there were two things you wanted to see me about?"

Beckham remembered the medical issues he wanted to go over with Bart. "There were. The other is about your seizures. I wanted to ask you some questions. Do you want to do that now?"

Bart's turn to shake his head. The man was in love with his sister, and she was having a crisis of conscience. Now was the best time to talk to her. "No, you go take care of your issues with Jody. I can come back tomorrow or the next day. Looks like I'm gonna be here for a while." He chuckled again. There was something about Silver Creek that just didn't want to let him go. "Come on, I'll walk you out." He grabbed the doctor's shoulders and guided him out of his own office. "Get on down there, now. Don't let anything stop you."

But something did. Something named Travis Cole.

XXXXXXXX

It didn't take much to move Marybeth out of her room and into Bret's. She only had one suitcase and a trunk; she was the first woman Bret had ever been involved with who didn't have enough personal possessions to open a ladies store. As soon as everything was settled he went down to the desk and paid her bill; that was taken care of.

She was in better spirits this morning than last night; at least she didn't feel like she was in imminent danger of being thrown out into the street. He came back upstairs to get her and they went to breakfast; she had a good appetite. They were just finishing up when he broached the subject of her working.

"Marybeth, have you ever done anything?"

"Done anything?"

"Worked at anything."

"Oh. That's what you meant. No, I haven't."

"Is there anything you think you could do?"

"I . . . . I don't know. There is one thing I'm good at. Peter used to tell me."

"What's that?"

She reached over and took his hand. And smiled at him. Yes, she was very good at that.

"I don't think that will help any."

"No, I guess not."

"What about school?" he asked, trying to think of everything.

"What about it?"

"I mean, could you teach school?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't very good in school."

Bret didn't know what else to suggest. What did women do if they weren't like Jody and Georgia? They got married. They grew up and got married. She didn't think – she couldn't think – did she think . . . . .?

"Marybeth, I think we better continue this discussion upstairs."

"Alright, Bret."

He held her chair as she rose from the table. She took his arm and went back up to his room; she seemed perfectly content. Once back in the room he wanted to make sure things were utterly clear. "Marybeth you were married. You know what it takes to make a marriage work. You have to both want to be married."

"Yes, Bret."

"Marybeth, I don't want to be married."

XXXXXXXX

Travis entered the saloon to see Alvin behind the bar with Howard, one of the new bartenders. The marshal pointed up to Jody's office and Alvin nodded. As Cole climbed the steps he could hear Jody talking; there was no other voice in the room. He listened to her as he got closer and was not pleased by the things he was hearing.

"Travis, I've given this a lot of thought . . . . Travis, this has been on my mind for a while . . . . Travis, I just can't do it."

He got to the top step and walked across the landing; her door was open. "Do what, Jody?"

She was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the door. She dropped the cup in her hands and it crashed to the floor and broke into pieces. "Oh my god, you scared me!"

He repeated himself. "Do what, Jody?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

He walked into her office. "That's the last thing you said. 'Travis, I just can't do it'."

She bent down to pick up the pieces of the cup. "That's right, that's what I said." She started towards the desk, intending to set the pieces down on it. He held out his hands, to take the broken cup, and she dropped the pieces in his hands instead.

He asked her again. "What is it that you can't do?"

There was no use putting it off any longer. "Travis, I can't sell the saloon."

He dropped the pieces of the cup on the floor. "You can't sell the saloon?"

Jody was startled, and just a bit frightened, by the crash of the pieces. "No, I can't. I've thought and thought, and I just can't get rid of it. I don't want to."

Cole was perplexed. Why did he think Maverick had something to do with this? "And this was your idea?"

"Yes, Travis, it was strictly my idea." She wasn't sure where this was going.

Without another word he turned around and left the office. The gambler had gone too far, and he was going to pay for it. He'd put this idea in Jody's head, Travis was certain of that. Time to go up to the clinic and find out just what else he had in store.

Jody was stunned. First the cup on the floor, and now this. What had gotten in to her fiancé?

XXXXXXXX

Mrs. Pringle didn't have a chance to open the door – Travis Cole came in like the autumn wind – fast and cold. "Maverick, I need to have a word with you." He grabbed Bart by the jacket and drug him outside before anyone could make a sound, slamming the the door shut behind them. He pulled Bart along with him for about three feet and then turned on the gambler.

"What the hell are you doing sticking your nose into my business? You've got no right telling Jody what to do with the saloon."

"Look, Travis, I – "

"Shut up, tinhorn. You've done nothing but stir up trouble ever since you got here. Time to stop, now, before this goes any further. You're no more Jody's brother than I am. Stay away from her!" As the marshal turned loose of Bart's coat, he took a swing at him; the left hook caught him square in the jaw and the right uppercut to the stomach dropped him to the sidewalk. Cole turned and walked back across the street to the jail, leaving Bart lying on the ground.

Beck came running outside and immediately knelt down. Bart's mouth was bleeding and he was semi-conscious. "Mrs. Pringle," Beckham called, "help me out here with Mr. Maverick." Between Doctor Dooley and Mrs. Pringle they got the gambler on his feet and inside, into a chair in the waiting room.

The doctor wiped the blood off Bart's face and stayed with him as he regained his senses. "What . . . was that?" Bart mumbled. His jaw hurt. So did his stomach.

"I think that was Jody's ex-fiancée, " Beck answered.


	14. Don't Get Shot

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 13 – Don't Get Shot

An hour later Bart's jaw hurt like hell, but it was easier to speak. "Remember what I said about going to tell Jody how you felt?"

The doctor nodded. "Of course I do."

"Wait."

"Why?" Slowly the answer dawned on him. "Oh, you're right."

Mrs. Pringle brought a cool, damp cloth that Bart applied to his jaw. "Ow," was the best he could do.

"Let's get you back into one of the rooms. You can lie down for a while, until your head feels better."

Bart got to his feet and the room started rotating. He swayed and Beckham grabbed him by the arm to keep him from falling. Together they moved carefully into one of the back rooms of the clinic; the doctor helped the gambler lie down. Bart closed his eyes and let the pain take over, and drifted off again into a half-sleeping, half-waking state.

XXXXXXXX

Bret had given up trying to make Marybeth understand. He wasn't going to marry her, and he wasn't going to support her. He left her in the hotel room on the pretense that he had to meet his brother, then left to find Bart. This whole incident with Mrs. Canton had given him a headache and he thought maybe Bart would have some ideas. He assumed his brother to be at the saloon and headed that way. Alvin was nowhere in sight and Howard was polishing the long mahogany bar, Harry's pride and joy. Bret sighed; he missed Harry. Alvin was a good bar man, but he wasn't Harry.

Howard started to pour Bret a cup of coffee and Bret waved him off. There was no sign of Bart downstairs and the door to Georgia's office was still closed, so he climbed the steps and went to see Jody. She was sitting behind the desk working on a ledger of some sort. There was a broken coffee cup on the floor in the middle of the room. Bret walked over and picked it up, setting all the pieces on Jody's desk. "Hey, Bret," she said by way of greeting.

"Hey, yourself," he answered. "Have you seen Bart today?"

"Not since this morning. I take it you need him for something?"

He sat down on her couch. "Yeah, I've got a problem named Marybeth Canton I could really use his help with."

"Oh? Why is Marybeth a problem?"

He told her the story of what happened with the brother-in-law, and finished with "It's my own fault; Bart warned me there was something wrong there and I didn't listen. Now I've got a semi-permanent room guest."

Jody smiled; she was trying not to laugh. "I would think you're not suffering too much," she told him.

Even Bret had to agree with that. "There are definite advantages to romancing a widow."

"What are you going to do with her?"

He shook his head; acknowledging that he was in a rather peculiar bind. "Trying to find her a job. Anything around here you could use her for?"

"Can she cook?"

"I doubt it. She doesn't seem to be able to do anything."

"I guess tending bar would be out of the question."

Bret gave it some thought. "Naw, I don't think that'd work either. Maybe I can teach her to play poker."

Jody suggested the unthinkable. "You could marry her."

Bret looked offended. "How bad do you hate me?"

Laughter filled the room. "I didn't think you'd like that one. What about Mrs. O'Rourke's? She does all sorts of things – sewing, millinery, baking, whatever else needs to be done. She's always looking for helpers."

"Don't know, but it's worth a try. Where can I find her?"

"She's on that back street behind the jail – a little white house. You know, where they built the – " she stopped abruptly, since she was about to say 'where they built the gallows.'

"Yeah. I know." Bret knew the spot all too well. He waited a beat, for the air to settle in the room, and then added, "If you see Bart, tell him – "

"That you're looking for him? Will do. And Bret? Good luck, sounds like you're gonna need it."

He'd risen from the couch and was halfway out the door. "Thanks, SIS."

Jody laughed again. "Bye."

She heard him cross the landing and take the stairs. Something had happened in the two years the Mavericks were gone; Bret seemed to accept her as his sister more readily than he had before they left. Maybe he'd just gotten used to the idea. Whatever it was, it made her glad. Now, if the rest of her life could just be as joyful.

XXXXXXXX

Travis knew it had been a stupid thing to do, but it sure felt good. He'd had enough of Bart Maverick; ever since her 'brother' came back to town Jody seemed different, changed somehow – and he didn't like it. Still, he'd taken his anger out on the gambler and he shouldn't have. It would probably be a good idea to just stay out of sight until everything cooled down.

"Ah, boss, trouble's comin' this way." This from Jenkins, his newest deputy, brought him out of his reverie. He looked out the jailhouse window and saw exactly what Jenkins meant – Bret Maverick was striding up the street, looking for all the world like he was coming to settle the score for his brother. Travis was taken by surprise when Bret walked past the building and turned the corner at the empty alley. The marshal was grateful that he didn't have to deal with another Maverick today.

"Jenkins, I'm goin' down to Cindy Lou's for supper. When I come back you can go home." Cindy Lou's was a café that had opened at the other end of town. It was best to stay out of his normal 'haunts' for a while, and he hadn't seen Millie down there since he'd gotten engaged. Time to renew an old friendship?

"Thanks, Marshal. Take your time, I got nothin' better to do." Life was quiet when there was no one in jail. And Jenkins liked it that way. Travis Cole kept the town peaceful, the way it should be.

XXXXXXXX

It was some time later. His head didn't hurt anymore but his jaw did. It seemed a reasonable trade; one that he was willing to make. The punch in the stomach had done some damage – he was sore where previous scars had left their mark.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his jaw. He hadn't seen that coming, and he should have. No doubt Jody had told Travis about her intention to keep the saloon, and the marshal blamed the man he considered the most likely instigator of that decision – him. Would the decision be the end of the engagement? All Bart knew for sure is that he'd rather not be on the receiving end of another Travis Cole punch.

The room didn't spin so badly when he got up from the bed and he brushed himself off before leaving the room. Quite an improvement over the cold, sterile exam room at Doc Washburn's, where he'd spent too many days and nights to count. At least this room had a bed!

Mrs. Pringle was gone and there was another doctor in the front office; Bart ducked his head into Beck's office and found the young doctor bent over a folder full of papers. He looked up as soon as he heard the door and grinned. "Bart, come on in. How's the jaw feeling?"

"Head feels better, jaw not so much," came the honest reply. "I'll live. Still wanna ask me about my . . . ahem, seizures?"

"If you feel up to it." Beck waved him into the office, back to the empty chair he'd sat in earlier in the day. He'd just been reading Doc Washburn's notes in Bart's file. "Tell me what you remember about what happened in the jail cell. That was the first one, right?"

Bart nodded, and the pain in his head momentarily flared. "Yeah, that was right after a really rough day in court. My head – I thought it was gonna explode, I couldn't hear anything right – it was all jumbled and loud. I was freezin' cold. And then the pain got so bad I couldn't breathe, and there was a bright light – and I was out. That's it, Beck. That's all I can remember."

"And the second one – in court?"

"Not much different. I was being questioned and I started to get confused, then I started to sweat. Mort Bowman came into court and announced he couldn't find the men he was looking for – and my head got that 'exploding' feeling again. Then I collapsed. That's it. What's the point to all this?"

Beck shook his head. "Did Doc give you laudanum?"

"Yeah, he said he did."

"What about aspirin?"

"For months, after the beating."

"Had any since that?"

"Aspirin – yeah. Twice in Santé Fe. "

"Anything unusual happen?" Beck had more clues, leading him to the conclusion he'd already arrived at.

"Yeah – something similar to the seizures. Just not as bad."

"And since?"

"No – nothin'. Haven't had any aspirin. I'm afraid to take it."

Doctor Beckham Dooley sat back in his chair. "That's what I suspected. It wasn't the laudanum – it was the aspirin. It's rare in somebody your age – it might be a developed allergy. Don't take it again – it could kill you."

"Had a doctor in Santé Fe suspect the same thing. Haven't had any since then."

Dooley nodded. "Best thing – just avoid it. Don't take any chances. And don't get any kind of infection – guess that's kinda tough, huh?"

"You ever been shot, Doc?"

"That's a pleasure I have, thankfully, missed."

"Treated gunshot wounds?"

"Yes."

"Then you know about infections."

Beck looked at the man in front of him seriously. "Don't get shot."

"Ha!" Bart laughed at that. "Good advice. I'll remember it."

"I'm serious, Bart. Be careful."

"It's not somethin' you plan for, Beck."

"No, I'm sure not."

Bart stood up from the chair, swayed slightly and straightened himself. "Any more questions?'

"No, that's about all." The doctor stood, too. "Guess you've been here today about long enough."

"Think so. Do you ever eat?"

"Ah, food. I remember it well," Beckham joked.

"How about supper?"

"Now?"

"Why not?" Bart asked. "You got something better to do?"

"No. Not a thing. Let's go."

As they left the clinic, Bart reached up and tenderly rubbed his jaw. "One thing's for certain, I'm not havin' steak tonight."


	15. Mama

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 14 – Mama

Beck examined the jaw; the gambler was right. "You've got a great looking bruise going there. Bet it hurts like the devil to chew."

"I'd agree with you but I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the devil yet," Bart stated. "I'm sure that comes later." Considering that he'd just eaten potatoes and vegetables and anything else soft available from the kitchen, he didn't think it was necessary to address the issue of chewing.

"Well, I can tell you it's not going away anytime soon. And it's going to look worse before it looks better."

"Thanks, Doc, I really needed to hear that." Bart was trying not to laugh; anything that involved his jaw was currently painful. "I wouldn't mind so much but it was for somethin' I didn't even do."

Bart and Beckham had just finished eating supper or, in Bart's case, what passed for supper, and were having coffee in the hotel dining room. Bart's jaw was in the process of turning a brilliant shade of purple, courtesy of U.S. Marshal Travis Cole.

"I'd have yelled 'duck' but I had no idea that he dragged you outside to hit you," Beck offered by way of an explanation.

"Neither did I," Bart answered. "I would have ducked."

He was giving serious consideration to lighting a cigar when he heard a very familiar voice behind him. "Make a new friend?" his brother asked.

"Brother Bret. You missed a fun day. Bret, this is the new doctor in town, Beckham Dooley. Beck, this is my OLDER brother Bret."

Beck stood and he and Bret shook hands. "Mighty big shoes to fill, Dr. Dooley. Doc Washburn saved this one's life more than once the last time we were in Silver Creek."

"Beck, please. I hope it's a long time before I catch up to Doc Washburn in that department. Won't you join us for coffee?"

"Thanks," said Bret, and sat down on one of the empty chairs at the table. He'd just signaled the waitress for coffee; he turned his head back to the table and finally saw Bart's swollen, rapidly discoloring jaw. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I didn't do it," Bart responded.

"He didn't," Beckham added.

"Then who did?"

"I ran into a door?" Bart tried.

"What was the door's name?"

Bart didn't say anything. He knew he was going to have to answer Bret's question eventually, but later rather than sooner was what he was looking for in this instance. His brother, however, was nothing if not persistent. "Bart? Who did that come courtesy of?"

"Can you just let this one pass?"

Bret shook his head. "You know me better than that. Dr. Dooley – Beck – were you there when he collected that beauty mark?"

Beck looked at Bart and then turned his attention back to Bret. "I was, Mr. Maverick, but it's not my tale to tell."

Bret laughed. "Nobody calls me Mr. Maverick unless they're tryin' to get me to pay the check. Please, call me Bret. I guess I have to respect a man that won't betray someone they just met."

Bart let out a breath. Maybe that meant Bret would stop pushing him for an answer.

"Bartley?"

Bart cringed. He wouldn't let anyone call him Bartley but Jody. And Pappy, when Pappy was speaking to him. "Knock it off, Bret."

"I need a name, Bart."

And his brother called him stubborn. "Nope."

"What's the other guy look like?"

"Untouched," Beck finally answered. He didn't want to sit in the middle of a family argument. "Bart got sucker-punched."

Bret finally got his coffee and took a swallow. "Is there more trouble comin'?"

"Don't know," Bart answered. "Don't know where this trouble came from."

Bret had almost given up when Jody came running in, and she was mad. "Bret. Beckham. Bartley, look at me." Bart had turned his head sideways as soon as he saw her. Slowly he turned back so that the swollen side of his jaw was visible.

"I heard it but I didn't want to believe it. Now I do. When did this happen?"

Bart answered her quietly. "Earlier today."

She turned to the doctor. "At your office, Beckham?"

"Outside," Beck answered.

"Would somebody clue me in?" Bret asked plaintively.

Jody, still mad as a hornet, gave Bret the answers that Bart wouldn't. "Travis and I had a disagreement when I told him I was no longer willing to sell the saloon. He walked out on me and this is the result."

Now it all made sense to Bret. "The broken cup?" he asked Jody.

"The broken cup," she explained. "What happened, Beck?"

There wasn't a sound in the dining room as the doctor answered her. Nobody refused a Jody Mayfield question. "Travis."

"The whole story, please, Beckham."

Beck told it very calmly. "Bart was getting ready to leave the clinic when Travis came in and dragged him outside. I don't know what Travis told your brother, but the next thing I knew Travis socked him in the jaw and the stomach and left him lying on the sidewalk. We spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with the aftermath."

She turned her attention to Bart. "What did he have to say, Bartley?"

His answer was succinct. "Stay out of his business and away from you."

Jody said nothing. She leaned over and kissed Bart on the cheek, then left the dining room much the way she'd entered.

Bart shot a look at Bret. "Happy now?"

"No, I'm not. We came so you could walk Jody down the aisle. What's goin' on here?"

Bart sighed. "I guess you deserve the whole story. It seems to be out in the open now." He proceeded to tell Bret everything, from Travis' request that Jody sell the saloon, up to his assault on Bart earlier in the day. He left out his conversation with Beck regarding the doctor's feelings for the young businesswoman. Bret listened without remark until Bart was finished.

"You think that wedding's off?"

"I certainly hope so," Beck answered for his new friend.

Bret raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Finally Beckham rose from the table. "Bret, glad to have finally met you. Take care of him, would you? He seems to be accident prone. Bart – come see me in the next day or two. We'll take another look at that jaw." He shook hands with Bret, then Bart, and took his leave.

"Alright, Brother Bart, what haven't you told me?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Bret thought for just a minute, then burst out laughing. "The good doctor?"

"Yeah," Bart answered, "he's got it bad. Now the question becomes – "

"How does Miss Jody feel?" Bret finished.

XXXXXXXX

At that exact moment, Jody felt sad, miserable, angry and confused. She wanted to talk to Travis but she was too mad to talk to Travis. She was angry that he could believe she was so easily manipulated, and confused why he would believe Bart was interfering in their lives. She'd gone to Bart for advise, and he'd told her to look into her heart and decide what was most important to her. And that's just what she'd done.

It came to her slowly – that was the problem. Travis loved her, and she loved the saloon more. And it was painfully obvious to her; it must be obvious to him too. But why should he blame Bart?

She needed time to think this out. She went back to the saloon, her place of refuge, closed up her office and locked the door. Then she left, back out through the noise and cacophony, into the buggy and out to the ranch, her real home. The house was empty; her mother and Beau were back at the saloon. She walked through it, listening to the night noises, and went back outside and around the back to the family graveyard. There was Jessie's grave, with the rosebushes growing over everything, and the smaller dirt mound that everyone knew was Jessie's baby girl but remained unmarked. She knelt down on the ground next to the grave and began to cry; all the anger and hurt came pouring out of her, and she watered the flowers with her tears.

She loved him; she thought he was the one for her and had agreed to be his wife. But he wanted too much from her; he wanted her body and her soul and her saloon. The thing that had become most important in the world to her, next to the people she loved. That wasn't the worst part – he wanted her to dispose of it – to never own it again, to watch someone else nurture it and grow it; to destroy it and kill it. He wanted it out of her life forever. And she couldn't do that. Something made her need to hold onto it. It had been Jessie's. Some maternal tie bound her to it, and she could no more part with it than she could part with her arm or leg. Bart understood that, why couldn't Travis?

It was so easy to ask her to sell it. So easy for him to want her rid of the very thing that made her who she was – so easy for him and so difficult for her. He'd never understood her obsession with the place – she wasn't sure if she understood it herself, but it was part of her legacy and she wouldn't let it go - even if it meant letting him go. Her crying stopped. She knew what she wanted, what she needed. She got up off the ground and brushed the dirt from her hands, the way she had so many times. Before she turned from the grave and went inside she quietly whispered "Thank you, Mama" and patted Jessie's marker.


	16. Fancy Man

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 15 – Fancy Man

He woke up in pain but that wasn't his biggest concern – he was worried about Jody and what all this was doing to her. She hadn't come back to the hotel dining room last night and he hadn't heard from her since. He got up and dressed without regard to time – he needed to find his sister and be certain she was alright. After the events of yesterday he wasn't sure what Travis Cole was capable of.

The saloon was locked up tight. No sign of Jody, which probably meant she went home last night. He went to the livery and got a horse. It was the first time he'd ridden out to the ranch alone and it felt strange to be going there to see Jody.

When he arrived she was getting the buggy ready for the trip to town. He finished up hitching the horse for her and tied his mount to the back; helped her in and followed her, then took the reins, all without saying a word. They returned to Silver Creek, neither one speaking. They drove up to the hotel; Bart pulled the horse to a stop and looked at Jody, silently asking about breakfast. She shook her head 'no' and he drove on down to 'The Three Mavericks.' He pulled around back and tied up the horses; then helped her down. She reached up a hand and touched his jaw; some of the swelling had gone but the bright purple bruise was in full bloom. He winced, she pulled her hand away and said "Sorry."

They went back around to the front; the heavy winter doors were open and Alvin was inside making coffee and polishing Harry's bar. "Mr. Bart, what happened?"

"I fell," Bart answered.

"Upstairs?" Alvin asked, inquiring about delivering the finished pot of coffee

"Please," Jody replied. Bart escorted her up the steps and into the office once she unlocked it. She pointed him at the couch and crossed to the window and opened the drapes. The sun was bright and warm, and she soon joined him while they waited for Alvin and the coffee. "I'm afraid to ask how it feels," she said. "It looks awful."

"Feels worse," Bart offered.

"It was Travis, wasn't it?"

"Didn't you talk to him last night?"

She shook her head. "I was too mad to talk to him. I locked up here and went home."

"All the way out to the ranch by yourself in the dark?"

She gave a little laugh just as Alvin arrived with the coffee pot and two cups. "The horse knows the way," she told Bart while pouring a cup for him and then one for herself. "I've made the trip too many nights in the dark to be worried. I needed time to figure out exactly what I wanted and what I intended to do. And I wanted to talk to . . . . . you'll think I'm crazy. I wanted to discuss it with Jessie."

Bart knew better than to shake his head. Talking was difficult enough. "I don't think you're crazy. I talked to her when I was out there."

"You were there and saw the graveyard? Momma didn't tell me."

"The first day we were here. Bret and I rode out to visit your mother. We spent the whole afternoon there. And I needed to see Jessie. I never got to, you know, when we were here before. I told her . . . . everything." He stopped and looked down at his coffee cup, which was already half empty. "It helped. I felt like she listened and understood." He laughed quietly; it was uncomfortable and painful. "That's crazy. I never knew the woman."

"Sure you did. You do. Every time you look in the mirror. You're so much like her - it stopped me in my tracks the first time I saw you."

"In the hotel hallway?"

Jody's turn to laugh. "Yes, that's when I first saw the resemblance. But not the first time I saw you. That, I'm ashamed to admit, was in your hotel room the night before. I was the burglar."

"I knew that a long time ago. But what were you looking for?"

"Jessie's will."

"But Hiram already had Jessie's will."

"Not that copy, the real will. The one she had drawn up in Denver. She told me 'the Mavericks' had it."

Bart looked puzzled. "But . . . but we all thought that was the real will."

"Not according to Jessie. There was another will, a 'successor' will, which replaced the original. We never found it."

Hmmmmm . . . the Mavericks. Bart wondered if Pappy had it. He had the most contact with Jessie. If he had the actual will was there was a reason to keep it secret - like Jessie being Jody's mother? Why hadn't he come forward with it?

"So that's what all the sneaking around was about?"

Jody was glad that the truth was out but embarrassed that she had been the main participant of the 'sneaking around.' "I hate to admit it, but . . . . yes."

Bart was the first to pour more coffee. "Do you do that often – talk to Jessie, I mean?"

"Whenever I feel the need."

"I used to. Go to momma's grave, I mean. Until we left Texas. But you've got a real, live mother to talk to. Why not go to Georgia?"

"Sometimes I just need to work things out by myself. That's when I talk to Jessie."

Bart needed to get them back to the Travis situation. "Like the Travis problem?"

Jody nodded her head. "Just like that."

"And did you work things out last night?" He felt a vested interest in both the problem and the solution.

"To my satisfaction, yes." That wasn't the complete answer, and Jody continued, "I don't think it will be to Travis' satisfaction."

"Oh?"

"I can't marry him, Bartley. Not if it requires my giving up ownership in 'The Three Mavericks.' I just can't."

Bart reached up and touched his sore jaw. "At least I'm warned this time."

"I'm so sorry that happened. He had no business taking it out on you."

An ironic laugh accompanied his comment. "Look at it from his viewpoint. When I got here the wedding was all set and you were both happy. I'm here two days and you're not sellin'. Who else is he gonna blame?"

"Me? Him? Both of us?"

She picked up her cup and walked it over to the window. As she did so there was a knock on her door and she called, "Come in." The door opened and it was the marshal.

"Jody, I – " Travis stopped as soon as he saw Bart.

The gambler stood up and set his cup down. "I think this is where I leave." He walked to the door; Travis moved out of the way as he passed. "You know where you can find me." Bart took the stairs and went out the back door, untying his horse from the rear of the buggy. He mounted and rode away before Cole could change his mind and follow him.

"Travis? Please come in and close the door."

XXXXXXXX

He rode into Silver Creek and thought ' _Another sleepy little town growing faster than they know how.'_

His horse cantered down the main street of the town while he took in the building placement. Marshal's office, barber shop, bank, dress shop, saloon, gun shop, tobacco store, café, livery, boarding house, general store, all the standard businesses a growing town needed. Of particular interest to him were the Marshal's office and the bank; only three buildings separated the two. If he wasn't going to have Connie to help him that was a bit too close for his taste. It might take more planning than it was worth. The saloon was a good size – might have some interest there. "The Three Mavericks.' What kind of a name was that? Well, what difference did it make? On a Saturday night, when every cowpoke in the territory was drinking and gambling, and there was no bank open to take their money? Percy would come in handy if he decided the saloon was a more likely prospect than the bank.

He slowed his mount to a walk to take a longer look without being too obvious. He was almost past the place when he saw her – all dressed up and looking every inch the lady. Connie, his Connie, in a black silk dress and hat, being escorted by a fancy man in a dress coat and ruffled shirt. No, not a fancy man, from the looks of it, more a card sharp. She looked up and saw him, and never gave one sign that he existed. Just kept right on talking to the gambler. They walked out of the saloon and up the sidewalk, towards the hotel. Yes sir, the saloon might make a better target. Maybe he could get Connie to help him, after all. If she wanted to keep her man alive.


	17. The Sins of the Brother

A Small Price to Pay

TO ANYONE READING THIS WHO IS CONFUSED – I am so sorry. I messed up big time and beg your indulgence. I have re-posted chapters 12-14 because I entered them incorrectly. Please re-read and forgive an old idiot. I'll be more careful the next time, I promise!

Chapter 16 – The Sins of the Brother

Bret's job, as he saw it, was to convince Georgia that she needed to hire Marybeth to work at the saloon. Not as a saloon girl or dancer or bartender, but to take over Lettie's night manager job when Jody got married and everybody moved one step up the ladder. He was sure that Mrs. Canton could do as good a job as Lettie and he could quit worrying about how she was going to live after he left town.

Of course there was always the option of taking her with him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had a woman along, but it did make it harder to keep track of his brother when one had company and the other didn't. There were definite advantages to having Marybeth around; he was reminded of that every night and every morning. Peter Canton was right, there was one thing Marybeth was very good at.

Bret had mixed feelings about the widow. Most of the time he enjoyed her company; it was nice to have a beautiful woman on your arm and in your bed. But that was part of the problem – she was there every minute. He didn't know how married people could stand all the – _**togetherness.**_ That's another reason he was determined to find her a job; a means of remaining independent. If she had a job he would have some breathing room.

All in all she seemed to make a good impression on Georgia, who promised she would give Marybeth serious consideration. After they left the saloon Marybeth pleaded a headache and went back to the hotel to lie down, Bret went back inside to find a poker game. When Marybeth reached the hotel she climbed the stairs to the room and paused at the door. Once she was sure that Bret hadn't changed his mind and followed her to the room, she hurried down the back stairs and out into the alley behind the hotel. She didn't know how she was going to find Logan, she just knew she had to.

She ran down the back alley until she could cross the street without being seen from the saloon and made her way to the livery. After convincing the proprietor she could indeed ride in a dress, she crossed behind the stable and found her way out of town, the way she and Percy traveled the first time. She made the turn leading to the cabin Logan occupied and saw his horse tied out front – she was right, it was him she spotted as she and Bret came out of the saloon.

She was livid as she crashed into the cabin without warning. Logan was sitting at the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand and an almost full bottle in front of him. "Connie, darlin'! I had a feelin' I'd be seein' you sooner rather than later. Have a drink with me!" He offered her a glass and the bottle.

"Logan Doran, you piece of scum! Were you spying on me?"

He laughed, an evil sound coming from his lips. "You and your fancy man?"

"He's not!" she protested. "He's something you wouldn't know anything about – an honest man."

"Ha! Ha! An honest gambler? Yeah, what are the chances of that? Sure got you fooled, all dolled up like you just come from a funeral. Who are you this time? Tricia Campbell? Lucy Dunlap? Marybeth Canton? Harriet Moore? Or have you invented someone new, someone just for him?"

She took the glass and threw it at him. "You son-of-a – oh never mind, that's just insulting your mother. You leave him out of this. If you've got a problem it's with me, not him."

He laughed the evil laugh again. "That's right – I've got a problem. My partner deserted me before I had a chance for another score. So now if she wants her new boyfriend to stay alive she's gonna help me this one last time. Or so-help-me-God I'll put a bullet between his eyes. Wanna see if I'm serious or not?"

Logan Doran was many things – and a killer was first on his list of successful endeavors. She had no doubt that he was serious and would do it without a second thought. She slumped into the chair opposite him at the table, took the full glass of whiskey out of his hand and drank the whole thing. She slammed the empty glass back on the table and snarled at him, "One last job, Logan. And then I'm done."

XXXXXXXX

Right now U.S. Marshal Travis Cole was trying to do whatever it took to hold onto his fiancée. So when she told him to come into her office and close the door that's exactly what he did. His hat in his hand, he walked over to the couch and sat down, quiet as a church mouse. And waited to see what she had to say.

He'd really made a mess of things yesterday and he knew it. Instead of staying in control and resisting the impulse to lash out at someone he'd gone straight for Bart Maverick and done his level best to hurt the man. He would be very lucky if Jody forgave him. And worst of all, even if she did he was going to have to apologize to Maverick himself. That would be the ultimate humiliation, given his belief that he'd been witness to a clandestine affair between Jody and the gambler.

But right now his only goal was to get back in Jody Mayfield's good graces. He would do whatever it took and worry about the consequences later. So he sat in silence, anticipating everything but what she proceeded to tell him.

"I can't understand what you did or why you did it, Travis. Did you really think that I had no mind of my own and that my brother persuaded me to do something I didn't want to do?" She was sitting behind her desk, still so mad at him that she was afraid to get any closer to him.

"He's not your brother, Jody. Quit calling him that." He hadn't meant to argue with her, but he hated the attitude she pretended to have.

"He is, Travis. Somewhere along the way we turned into brother and sister, whether we had the same parents or not. You don't know what he went through. Between the beating and his collapse and the whole circus of a trial, he poured out his heart and soul to me. And I shared things with him I've never told anyone else, not even you. I was his crutch, and he was my rock. He gave me his share of the saloon – GAVE it to me. He was almost killed twice on that riverboat because of my fight with Marcus Hook. And he traveled for days just to be here for my wedding. Our wedding. I'm the reason he's here now instead of July. I lied to him and begged him to come, just so I could talk to him. SO I COULD TALK TO HIM. And the only advice he gave me was to figure out what it was I really wanted so that I was sure of myself. This has been my decision all along, Travis, and I just didn't want to make it."

"You promised to marry me, Jody. I asked you and you said yes. I love you. I thought you loved me."

"I do love you, Travis. But I love my business, too. And that's what you asked me to give up. And I was willing to – at first. But the more I thought about it the more I knew I couldn't do that. I made the decision; not Bart, not my mother, not anybody but me."

"And what decision is that, Jody?" he asked, afraid that he already knew what she was going to tell him.

"I can't marry you, Travis. The wedding is off."

He sat perfectly still on the couch and never said anything. A minute went by, then two, then three, and he kept trying to convince himself that this wasn't real - it was a bad dream, and he would wake up from it any minute. But it wasn't, and he didn't. Finally when he spoke it was to ask her an unexpected question. "Are you in love with him?"

Now that was funny. Yes she was, but not the way he meant it. "In love with Bartley? How could you even ask that question?"

He was starting to get angry. She'd made a fool of him, cheated on him and betrayed him, with her so-called brother, and thought he didn't even know. She was wrong, and he intended to prove it to her. "Because I saw you in his arms, here in this office. And I know you spent the night with him, the night you were supposed to have dinner. I loved you, Jody, how could you do that to me?" He'd gotten up from the couch and was leaning across her desk, almost face-to-face with her. And his voice was enraged and threatening.

She was horrified. Where had he ever gotten such ideas? How did he know she was crying in Bart's arms in this very office? And about the innocent dinner that turned into a night spent sleeping on the couch, alone? And accuse her of . . . . . . ?

"You're wrong, Travis. You've misconstrued perfectly innocent things to fit your sick ideas. I was in Bartley's arms here because I was a sobbing mess and he was comforting me while I cried. And the night in his hotel room? We had wine with dinner and too much food and I fell asleep on his couch, for goodness sake! If you loved me you couldn't think those things about me. I would never, ever do that." She took a breath. " I think you better leave now." She was so mad she couldn't say anything else.

But Travis could. He took one more parting shot before he left her office for the last time. "You might get away with it, Jody, because I loved you. But he won't. He's going to pay, and pay dearly for his sins." And he turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind him.


	18. Missing

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 17 – Missing

Jody sat at her desk, stunned, for endless minutes before she realized she had to warn Bart. Travis had threatened him, no doubt about that, and she had to tell him. She left immediately, terrified that the marshal would attempt to do something before she could find her brother. She went straight to his hotel room but he wasn't there; where else could he be?

Then she thought about Beckham Dooley and knew what her next stop was. The clinic was mostly empty, except for Mrs. Pringle, and Johnny Kelton, who appeared to have broken his arm again. Beck's office door was closed ; Mrs. Pringle knocked and said something to the doctor and then motioned Jody in. Beckham was alone, Jody's hopes fell.

"Well, I've had patients disappointed before, but not that quickly," Beck told her.

"I'm sorry, Beckham, I was hoping Bartley was here with you."

Doctor Dooley shook his head. "Haven't seen him today, Jody. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I've got to find him, Beck. It's urgent."

"Have you tried the hotel?"

"Yes," she answered desperately. "He's not there. If he comes by, would you please tell him to come find me right away? I'll be at the saloon."

She turned to leave and he quickly stood and grabbed her elbow. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"It's Travis. He threatened Bart and I have to warn him." She took a step back into the office and Beckham let go of her. "I really think Bart's in danger."

"Threatened him? How?"

"Said that he'd pay for his sins. He hasn't done anything, Beck. Bart is perfectly innocent and I think Travis is going to hurt him. Or worse."

"Why did Travis threaten him?"

She gave him an answer while she looked off into the outer office. "Because I called off the wedding."

He wanted to jump for joy; to reach up and yell 'Hooray!' Instead he said, "Oh?"

"Travis thinks – oh, it doesn't matter what he thinks. He's wrong. And he's angry and hurt and ready to take it out on me, only he won't, and so he's going to take it out on Bartley, and oh, Beck, what have I done?"

Beckham walked around the desk and reached out to touch her arm. "You've done nothing wrong, Jody. I'll help you find Bart and warn him."

"Thanks, Beck. I'll feel better when he knows to watch out for Travis."

"Jody?"

She looked at the young doctor that loved her and was thankful for his help and friendship. "Yes?"

"I'm glad."

XXXXXXXX

Bart rode out north of town, just wanting to get away from Travis Cole and Silver Creek and the mess his sister's life had turned into. He felt responsible, even though he knew he really wasn't – better that everything fall apart before the wedding rather than after. Maybe if he hadn't come back – no, that was no good, either. If he hadn't come back she would have come to the same conclusions. Maybe before it was too late, maybe after. All he knew was it didn't look like there was going to be a wedding.

Should he stay and help her through it? Should he leave and make her face it all alone? It was a quick decision; how could he desert her after she'd stood by him during everything he'd been through? How long would it take her to realize there was another man, one who loved her every bit as much as the first had, if not more? Who loved her enough to let her be herself, rather than trying to change her?

There was trouble coming, he could feel it in the air. Probably the smartest thing to do was make sure Bret got out of town before it all started; there was no need for him to be involved in this. He didn't want a repeat of Denver – he thought about how close he'd come to losing his brother to a bullet meant for him. No more of that nonsense. Then at least he could stay in Silver Creek without worrying about the man who worried about him.

The countryside was really pretty this time of year, almost as pretty as the north end of the Garrett ranch in Carson City. Not hot like Nevada, just warm and pleasant, with a mild breeze and the sounds of a meadowlark in the air. Bart thought again of Rose Garrett, and why he couldn't commit to her at this point in his life, and hoped that Jody would never know the uncertainty that Rose must feel. If Jody listened to her heart it might lead her back to Beckham Dooley, who most certainly loved her. But did she love him? Could she love him? How long was he willing to wait for her to make up her mind? How long was Rose willing to wait for him?

Enough speculation about love and unhappiness. Just keep riding, until the hesitation about life and what it offered left and there was just a quiet peace, a certainty that wherever the road might lead would be the right path. He sighed and put the turmoil to rest, and just let the horse go in his own direction. And that was straight back to town, and back into the fire. Better him than someone else; his mettle had already been tested enough for one lifetime. So much for being a self-professed coward.

XXXXXXXX

There was no sign of Bart in town anywhere. No one had seen him since he left the saloon this morning before Jody had the blow-up with Travis. She finally gave up and went back to her office, hoping that he would show up there sometime soon. She walked right past Beau and Georgia, who were standing at the bar talking to one of the new girls. Georgia started to go after her and Beau stopped her.

"Let her go, Georgia."

"But somethings wrong, Beau. She didn't even see us." Georgia was still worried about her daughter's state of mind and what was bothering her.

"She had a fight with Travis this morning."

"How do you know that?" her mother asked.

"Alvin heard the aftermath. Said Travis left in a fury and Jody left soon after. She's been gone ever since."

"Probably talking to your cousin."

Beau shook his head 'no'. "According to Alvin, Bart was here right before. He left when Travis arrived. Haven't seen him since."

"Then I should talk to her."

"No, Georgia, let me. Maybe she was with Bart. If so, she'll probably tell me. She might not if it's you."

Georgia acknowledged the possibility that Beau was right. "Go. See what you can find out. I'll be in my office."

Beau kissed his bride-to-be on the cheek and crossed the saloon floor. He took the stairs the Maverick way, two at a time, and knocked on Jody's door before he went in. "Something you want to talk about?"

"Not really. Come in, Beau. Have a seat." Once again she offered the couch.

"Don't mind if I do," he told her. "You see Bart today?"

"This morning."

"Before Travis?"

"Oh. You know about that?" Her tone wasn't happy.

"Kind of hard not to, Jody."

She threw her pen down on the desk. "Did Alvin hear it?"

"Just the sound of it. Trouble in paradise?"

"Paradise is closed for repairs," she offered. "The wedding is off."

"For good?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Want to talk about it?" She probably wouldn't, at least to him, but he was willing to try anyway.

She surprised him. "Travis wanted me to sell the saloon. I decided not to. He blames Bartley for my decision and took it out on him yesterday. Have you seen him? He looks awful."

Beau hadn't seen Bart for two or three days. "No, not for a while. What have I missed?"

"Travis hit him in the jaw. This morning it was kind of purple-ish."

Great. Beau worried about Bart's head the same way Bret did – always afraid of long-term effects from the pistol whipping. "Is he alright?"

"No, but he will be eventually. He had nothing to do with my decision – I can't sell this place, Beau. It was ma – Jessie's."

"Travis seems like a reasonable soul. Why blame Bart?"

"He saw some things he misunderstood. Remember the night I didn't come home – I had dinner with Bart in his hotel room."

"I remember. You stayed in town that night."

Jody got up from behind the desk and walked around to the couch, sitting with Beau as she explained. "I did stay in town, but not here. Bartley and I ate too much and drank too much, and I fell asleep on the couch in his room. He let me sleep there all night."

"Oh. And Travis – "

"Yes. Thought that Bart and I – "

The Maverick cousin sat there silent. He knew what Travis thought. What any man would think. But he knew Bart, and how he felt about Jody, and that they would never do anything like that. And Travis should have known that too. He'd asked her to marry him. Didn't he trust her? Then Jody was better off without him. Whether she knew it or not.

Finally Beau told her, "Sorry, kid. Are you gonna to tell your mother?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until I know what's happening. I have to find Bart. Travis – well, Travis threatened him this morning right before he left and I haven't seen Bart since."

"You tried the hotel?"

"I've tried everywhere. He's not here, Beau. I'm worried that something happened."

She got up and so did Beau. "Yeah. I'll go check his hotel again."

"Alright. If you find him, tell him I need to see him, please. And if you see Bret – "

"I'll tell him too." Beau gave Jody a hug and started to leave. He turned back to her when he stopped at the door. "It'll be alright, Jody. It really will."

"I know, Beau. But I'll be glad when it's all over."


	19. Friends and Lovers

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 18 – Friends and Lovers

The blueprint was in place. Logan outlined a way to make the biggest haul possible – hit the saloon Sunday night after closing, when all the receipts for the two busiest nights of the week were locked up in somebody's office rather than the bank. That gave them almost a full week to lay the groundwork and plan for the robbery. Connie had to find a way back in to see Georgia and uncover where the funds were kept from Friday night until Monday morning; then help determine the easiest spot to break in to the offices. It shouldn't be too hard; Bret had given her an opening. Logan would explore the back alley to the saloon and play the part of the drifter, spending several nights inside drinking and learning the routines of the people working there. Percy, as usual, was the back-up, given nothing too complicated to do besides be the insurance policy if things got out of hand.

Connie didn't like it but she didn't have much choice. If she wanted to keep Bret alive she'd have to work with Logan one more time before she could get him out of her life for good.

She retraced her steps to town and was fortunate to get back to the hotel and change clothes before Bret reappeared from playing poker. He returned to the hotel later than expected but pleased; poker had been good to him again. He was relieved to see her feeling better and they ate a late supper in the dining room. Just as they were finishing his brother came in and joined them.

Bart looked awful. His jaw was swollen and discolored and Bret was still visibly upset. He was ready to go have it out with the marshal until Bart stopped him. "Brother Bret, it looks worse than it is. Leave it alone. Cole showed up at Jody's this morning to talk to her and I have the feelin' it's all over."

"Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me?"

"Yeah, a lot. Come upstairs where we can talk?"

"Marybeth, honey – "

"I know," she interrupted. "You two need to talk. Go ahead, I'm going to bed early anyway." She whispered in Bret's ear, "I'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Bart had to laugh to himself. He'd never seen Bret so - what was the word he was looking for? Domesticated. The three of them went upstairs and left Marybeth in room 220 while they went on to 221. Bret threw his hat on the bed and took a chair by the window. "Now, son, I wanna hear the whole sad story."

It didn't take long to fill Bret in on the details. When Bart was finished, the older brother sat shaking his head in disbelief. "Don't understand it. The man was not like that . . . . before. Two years ago he was straightforward and level headed. Now . . . . . "

"People change, Bret. You know that. Love does funny things to a person."

"That's not love. That's . . . . . I don't know what you'd call it. Obsession? Possession?"

"How about insanity?"

"Well, better that she's out of it now." Bret shifted his focus to his brother. "Do ya think he'll leave you alone now?"

Bart shook his head. "Nope. I think he'll blame me for everything. But I hope I'm wrong."

"Just be careful, would ya? Can't trust a man with a broken heart."

A peal of laughter from the younger brother. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"Hell no." A pause, then another focus shift. "Have you remembered anything about Marybeth?"

"No, not so far. I'll let you know if I do. What are you gonna do with her?"

Now it was Bret's turn to explain what was going on. "Guess I shouldn't count on a job at 'Mavericks' now, huh?"

"Oh, you never know. Georgia's pretty resourceful when she puts her mind to it. She might surprise you."

An unexpected knock on the door interrupted the conversation. "Cousin Bart, you in there?"

Bart opened the door to Beau, who didn't wait for an invitation to enter the room. "Where'd you go? Jody's been looking for you all day."

"Well good evening to you too, Cousin Beauregard. Why is Jody looking for me?"

"Hey, Bret. She wants to talk to you. Seems our marshal has been making threats."

An amused little laugh erupted from Bart. "See, Brother Bret? Didn't take him long, did it?"

Beau wanted in on the discussion. "Cole, you mean? That's why Jody wants to see you."

Bret rose to go. "Remember what I said, Bart. And watch your back. I'm goin' to bed."

All three Mavericks laughed. Bret slapped his brother on the shoulder, did the same to Beau when walking by, and left. Beau remarked "Well, Cousin Bret seems to be in an awfully good mood these days."

"Yeah, I'd say so," Bart answered. "That's easy, for him. I'm still worried about Mrs. Canton."

"Why?"

"Because she's familiar to me, and I don't know why. There's something funny there and I don't trust her."

"You're too suspicious, Cousin Bart." Given the events of the last two years, Beau suspected that Bart had every right to be. "I'm going, too. I told Jody I'd check again to see if you were here and I found you. Go see the woman before she goes mad, would you?"

"Sure."

"Walk back with me. Might not be a good idea to be out alone."

"For gosh sakes, Beau. I'm not 12 years old anymore. I can take care of myself."

Beau pointed at Bart's jaw. "Yeah? Not so much, Cousin."

"Alright, let's go. Maybe I should just get a bodyguard. That'd make you and Bret happy, wouldn't it?"

"Extremely. Until then . . . . . "

XXXXXXXX

"Marybeth, honey, I don't think it's gonna work out at the saloon . . . . . . " Bret interrupted his thought to kiss her on the neck, then the ear lobe. "Sounds like nobody's goin' anywhere for a while."

Oh dear. That wouldn't work; she needed to carry her part of the robbery if she was going to keep him in good health. "Why whatever do you mean?" she giggled and rolled away from him on the bed.

Bret followed her across the mattress. "I mean Jody's not gettin' married. Nobody's changin' jobs."

Something had to be done about that. First thing in the morning. Right now she was enjoying herself too much to worry. She snuggled down under the blanket and back into his arms. "We'll just see about that," she muttered, under her breath.

"What?" Bret asked, breathing into her hair.

"Nothing, darling, nothing."

XXXXXXXX

The marshal was just beginning to make his nightly rounds when he saw the two gamblers leave the hotel and head for the saloon. The sight of the man that was the harbinger of his unhappiness started his plotting all over again. He should just kill the s.o.b. and get it over with. His mind quickly discarded that idea, since he had no intention of trading his life for the card sharps. There had to be a better way to extract his measure of revenge.

He walked on down the sidewalk and checked the barbershop door. Locked, as usual. Slowly, so slowly that he almost didn't realize it was happening, an idea began to form. He remembered Jody relating to him the terrible struggle Maverick had being locked up in jail all those weeks, with no relief from the worry and boredom, and no way to help himself in the upcoming trial. She'd really worried about him; it almost seemed like the confinement might kill him before the gallows did.

' _I wonder what another stint in the same cell would do to her beloved brother,_ ' Travis thought. The longer he considered it the better it sounded. All he needed was a reason to lock him up. Or did he?

XXXXXXXX

Beau went to check on the high stakes poker game to give Bart and Jody time to talk. As Bart made his way through the crowded saloon, Frankie Slade caught his eye and he stopped for a minute and talked with the pretty dance hall girl. He promised her a drink on the way back out, feeling guilty over acting indifferent the last time they met. He was lonely and Frankie was friendly.

Jody was sitting at the window with a drink in her hand; moonlight was the only light that pierced the darkness. Only two years had gone by since their first official encounter in the hotel hallway, but the young girl had grown into a beautiful woman. He stood in the doorway for a minute or more and watched her; after the last few days she finally looked peaceful and he hated to interrupt that. She took a swallow of her drink and sensed someone was there. A smile spread across her face when she saw who it was.

"I was worried about you." She got up and walked over to him, then kissed his cheek and dropped onto the couch. "Come sit with me, there are some things you need to hear."

He walked past her and took the drink from her hands, sipped it and gave it back to her. "Couldn't you drink somethin' better than that?" he asked her.

"Better than whiskey," she retorted. "Tequila suits my frame of mind."

He sat down on the couch next to her and once again took the glass from her, this time setting it on the small table she'd moved into the setting. "Nothing suits mine," he told her. "What did you need me for?"

She turned to face him. "Travis thinks we're lovers."

Not much about the marshal surprised him anymore, but that did. "Where did he get that idea?"

That caused Jody to burst out in laughter. "From us."

"What?"

"He saw us the day I cried in your arms. And he thinks the night I slept in your room – "

Bart finished the sentence for her. "You slept in more than my room?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to marry him, are you?"

"No."

"Did you tell him that before or after he accused you of cheating on him?"

"Before."

He was quiet for a moment as he ran the sequence of events over in his mind. "That explains a lot."

"It explains nothing," she snapped back. "How dare he think I would do that?"

"Anything else?"

"Yeah – he blames you for everything. He said he was going to make you pay for your sins."

"Ah. Well, at least I know where it'll be comin' from when it comes."

"Bart, you have to leave town. Take Bret and get out of here before this all blows up any worse than it has."

He noticed that she called him Bart. Was she really that worried about him? "And leave you here by yourself to deal with this? I don't think so."

"Look what he's already done to you. You can't stay and wait for him to kill you." Her hands were doing that rubbing on each other again.

"He won't kill me, he'd hang for it."

"Lots of good that would do me if you're dead."

Bart thought about the times he'd cheated death. "Nobody's managed to do that yet."

"Don't tempt fate."

He wrapped her up in his arms and hugged her. "I won't. I promise. Quit sitting in the dark, would you?"

"I'm going out to the ranch. I'm tired. I need some sleep in a real bed."

He stood up and pulled her with him. "Come on. I'll walk you out."

"Alright." She followed him out and locked the office door behind her.

They walked down the stairs arm in arm. They passed Frankie on the way out; Bart tipped his hat but kept walking. Frankie looked disappointed but she'd get over it. He left Jody at the bar to talk to Alvin about closing up and went around back to get the buggy. Travis saw him and watched from the alley on the far side of the street.

Bart pulled up to the saloon doors and got out. He helped Jody in and turned the reins over to her. "Do you want me to follow you?"

She just laughed. "No Bartley, I can get home. Remember what I told you. Watch your back."


	20. The Big Bad Wolf

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 19 – The Big Bad Wolf

"Well, mama, I broke the engagement. I'm not going to marry the marshal."

Jody, of course, got no answer since she was standing at Jessie's grave. She had to come out here and talk it over before anyone else got home. "He wasn't the man I thought he was. I'm so sorry to tell you that I picked the wrong man – just like you did. I guess we don't have very good taste, do we?"

As usual, she finally sat down right next to the grave. "Well, at least I didn't marry him. That's the only thing I did right. I found out before it was too late instead of after, like you did."

She sat there for who-knows-how-long, just thinking about the possibilities that her life had held and no longer did. She was surprised that Beckham even talked to her, much less was as friendly as he was. She hadn't been mean to him; she just stopped seeing him. Travis rushed in to her life and took her by surprise – he was attentive and attractive and seemed to make her his number one priority. Now she could see the little things that should have told her something wasn't right – the things she chose to ignore in the rush of 'love'. The biggest clue was the request to sell the saloon – was he afraid he couldn't compete with it for her attention?

She picked up a handful of dirt and poured it back onto the grave. "Why him, mama? Why couldn't Beck have paid more attention? I could have fallen in love with him."

"Could you, child? Did you pick the wrong man to give your heart to?"

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of Georgia's voice. Had she heard Jody refer to Jessie as 'mama?' "How long have you known?"

"That Travis was the wrong man? I don't know for sure. I think I suspected when he asked me to marry him and then turned right around and asked me to sell the saloon. How could he ask me that as soon as I said yes to him? Didn't he know what it meant to me or didn't he care?"

"You mean because it was your mama's saloon?"

Jody looked up from her mother's grave and looked at Georgia. "You heard me."

"I heard you. How long have you known?"

"I think I suspected the first time I saw her picture. I looked so much like her – how could I resemble her when you'd given birth to me? The truth slowly dawned on me. And then when I saw Bartley for the first time – and he was a Maverick. I was certain." She stood up from the grave and put her arms around Georgia. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to know that I knew. I thought no one was here."

Tears could be heard in Georgia's voice. "I'm glad it's out in the open. All these years – there was a reason for lying to you, Jody."

"Edgar, I assume."

"Yes, he was the reason. Jessie and I found out we were each going to have a baby at the same time – I was happy and Jessie was miserable. She always intended to leave Edgar Pike, and she knew if there was a child Edgar would never let her or the child go. He violated some local ordinance and got put in county jail for 90 days – we both gave birth within a few days of each other. Only my baby girl . . . . . . .didn't live. She's buried here next to Jessie. And that's when Jessie got the idea – if I took you, Edgar would think their child died – and when the time came to leave him, he'd have no claim on her. When she put you in my arms – I knew I could never let you go. And as the years went past, Jessie couldn't leave him. Mean as he could be, he loved her like no other ever could. So things stayed the way they were."

They stood there in silence, holding on to each other, mother and daughter. It didn't matter to Jody who'd given birth to her; Georgia Mayfield had raised her and loved her and cleaned her skinned knees and tucked her in bed at night. Georgia Mayfield was her mother and always would be. Jody looked up at the woman who'd cared for her for twenty-two years and said, "Thank you, mama." Then the two of them went inside the house.

XXXXXXXX

Beckham Dooley sat in his office one more lonely night and wrote notes on his patient files. He was finally getting caught up, now that Doctor Thomas was here, and he was going to have time for himself in the evenings. The prospect of personal time was something he'd never thought about before. But Jody Mayfield was no longer engaged – and he was glad. It didn't matter to him how long it took, he would make her understand that he loved her, had always loved her, and would always love her. He just hoped against hope that she could love him back.

He wondered how long he should wait before he asked her out. Would tomorrow be too soon? _'Stop it_ _Beckham,'_ he thought, _'of course tomorrow is too soon_. _You should wait at least two days.'_

The prospect made him giddy. He had a chance with her again. He wasn't going to ruin it this time, like he had before. She was the most important thing in the world to him, and he would show her in every way he could. He was sitting there thinking about Jody when he heard a knock at the door. Who could it be at this hour? He got up to answer it, and as he opened the door he saw Bart Maverick outside arguing with Travis Cole. Travis had his gun out and pointed at the gambler and it sounded like he was trying to arrest Maverick – what for, Beck couldn't be sure. And Bart was not going to be arrested.

"Let's go, Maverick – now. I'm not asking again." Beck clearly heard the marshal give the order.

"I'm not going to jail with you, Cole. I haven't done anything to be arrested for," Bart protested loudly.

Travis said something that Beckham couldn't hear, stuck his gun in Bart's side and once again grabbed his jacket, as if trying to drag him off. Maverick threw a right hook that landed and Cole came back with his gun butt on the side of Bart's skull. The gambler went down, out cold. Beck quickly swung the door almost shut before the marshal saw him and kept it open just enough to hear Cole laugh and say "Let's see how you survive this." He picked Bart up like a sack of flour and carried him across the street to the jail. Beck hurried back into his office to get his keys and lock up, and then ran down the sidewalk to the hotel. "Bret Maverick's room, hurry," he told Arthur at the desk and then took the stairs as fast as he could to room 220. He knocked on the door once, twice and got no answer; Arthur had told him that Bret was in, so he pounded on the door a third time and finally heard noise. "Bret, it's Beckham Dooley. Bart's in trouble, open up."

The door swung open and a man's hand reached out and grabbed Beck by the collar and pulled him into the room. The door slammed behind him and then he heard Bret's voice. "What do you mean, Bart's in trouble?"


	21. Little Boy Lost

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 20 – Little Boy Lost

The very first thing that made its way into his consciousness was pain. Again, pain. The whole side of his head was throbbing and on fire, and it didn't seem as if any amount of water would put the fire out. He tried to open his eyes; the right one opened but the left one was stuck shut, probably by clotted blood. He was lying on something, a cot covered by a blanket, face down. The blanket tasted like wool. He tried to spit it out; he had to get up on his elbows to get his mouth out of the blanket. It was pitch black and silent as a church on Saturday night. His left eye finally opened; it allowed no additional light. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness a familiarity set in, followed immediately by fear and panic. He was in a jail cell.

He struggled to sit up as his head pounded even worse than before. His coat was off and thrown carelessly across his body; the left lapel was ripped away from the front of the coat, as if someone had tried to drag him. He was finally able to swing his legs around and put them on the floor. It sounded just like the cell he spent months in inside the Silver Creek jail. Suddenly the reality hit him – he was inside the Silver Creek jail. And he remembered Travis Cole, and the insistence that he was under arrest; then the struggle, the punch and the feel of the butt of the gun hitting his head. . .cell.

He was sweating and shaking at the same time; so sick to his stomach that the bile rose up in his throat and spilled out onto the floor before he could move. Another wave of nausea hit him hard and his head spun; he tried to vomit again but had nothing left inside him. He jumped up and launched himself at the bars of the cell; he had to get out, he would do anything to get out. "Cole!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Travis Cole!" There was no sound but the echo of his own voice. He was completely alone in the jail.

This was deliberate and he knew it. Travis was doing this to him as punishment. Jody's words – "He said he was going to make you pay for your sins" – came hauntingly back to him; the threat had come true. He tried to shake the bars of the cell, then the bars of the door. Nothing moved. "Travis!" He yelled again, though it did no good. Once more his stomach rolled and turned over on him, and he gagged but nothing came. He was sweating, he was freezing, he was shaking so hard he couldn't stand up; he plummeted to the floor and laid there for minutes on end. At long last he got to his knees but couldn't get any further – he grabbed hold of the edge of the cot and held on for dear life, until finally he could pull himself back up on it.

His mind was everywhere – in an abandoned barn outside Denver, tied up and being beaten; on the steps to the gallows, handcuffed behind his back; in the Mississippi River, being pulled under by the paddlewheel; on a Carson City street corner bleeding; in a burning house outside Santé Fe, with the air so clotted with smoke that he couldn't breathe; in a hotel room in Silver City being pistol-whipped into unconsciousness. They were all real; he'd lived through each and every one. His mind whip-lashed back and forth through the scenarios, again and again, until he was so dizzy that he couldn't keep his eyes open. He pulled the blanket up over his head and whimpered like a child. Eventually came blessed relief, when his mind couldn't process the trauma anymore and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXX

"Bret, I'm so sorry – you have to come. It's Bart and he's in trouble."

The man standing in front of him had nothing on but a blanket. No wonder he'd reached out into the hallway and pulled Beck inside. "What kind of trouble?"

The light in the room was dim but Beckham could see the bed and a woman in the bed – although he didn't know who she was. "Uh, Cole's got him. Knocked him out and carried him over to the jail."

"What for?" Bret demanded as he hurriedly put his pants on.

"I don't know, really. Bart tapped on the door to the clinic and by the time I got there he was with the marshal. Travis's gun was out and it was pointed at Bart – and they were arguing. Travis grabbed Bart's coat the way he did the other day and tried to drag him across the street, so Bart hit him. And Cole cracked him on the head with the butt of his gun and knocked Bart out. The last I saw he was hauling Bart over to the jail, unconscious."

"Did Cole see you?"

"No, he didn't. Bart must have knocked on the clinic door before Travis got there."

Bret had his shirt on and half buttoned – he grabbed his coat and pushed Beckham out of the room.

"What were they arguing about?" He continued to push Beck back down the hall.

"Uh, Cole was trying to arrest Bart and Bart was protesting that he hadn't done anything."

"Anything else?"

"Well, after Cole hit Bart, he said something like 'survive this.' And he laughed. Then he just picked Bart up and carried him to the jail."

"That's it?" They were halfway down the hotel stairs.

"That's all, I swear." Beck had to run to keep up with Bret.

"Alright, go down to the saloon. Get Beau Maverick. You haven't met him yet. That's Cousin Beau. Blonde hair, English accent. Everybody knows him. Get him up to the jail as fast as you can. Go now. And thanks." Bret took off running, up the street and towards the jail.

Beck moved as fast as he could go down to the saloon. He ran in and grabbed the first bartender he could find. Fortunately it was Alvin. "I need Beau Maverick. Hurry. Bret sent me to get him." Alvin scurried out from behind the bar, coming back in just a minute with, as Bret said, a blonde man dressed just the way the Mavericks dressed.

"This is the man, Mr. Beau. Said Mr. Bret sent him."

"Look, I'll explain as we go, Bret needs you at the jail right now. Marshal Cole's arrested Bart and Bret's there. I'm Dr. Dooley. You're the cousin, right?"

"Right," Beau answered as they hurried out of the saloon and back up the street. Even from this distance they could hear Bret pounding on the jail door and yelling "Let me in! Open up, Cole!" There wasn't a light to be seen inside; it was obvious no one was there.

Beau get there first and tried to talk Bret down, but his cousin was having none of it. "That bastard! He did this deliberately. How did he know?"

"What are you talking about, Bret? How did who know what?" Beau was confused, he had no knowledge of Bart's fear of being locked up again. Beckham finally caught up to the Mavericks – if he and Beau couldn't get Bret quieted down quickly the whole town would be awake.

Bret's voice finally dropped in volume. "When we were on the Belle – the captain threatened to turn him over to the marshal in Memphis. He was almost irrational, Beau – he was terrified of another jail cell. I've never seen him like that. If Cole knew what he went through here - waiting for the trial and then the hanging – he could have done this deliberately." He turned to Beckham. "Didn't you say Cole was trying to arrest Bart and they were arguing?"

"Yes, that's what was going on. Bart said he'd done nothing to be arrested for. But Bret, why would Travis do that? Just to get even?" Beck couldn't believe the marshal could be so calloused.

"Exactly, to get even for losing Jody. He blames Bart."

Beau grabbed Bret by the shoulders and turned him around. "There's a window in the cell. Let's check that." They hurried around the back of the jail. There was indeed a window; it was low enough on the wall so that all three men could see inside. It was pitch black in the cell.

"Bart! Bart are you in there? It's Bret and Beau. We're here Bart. Answer me!"

Everything was very still and quiet. Bret tried again. "Bart, it's your brother. I'm here. Talk to me Bart. I'm out here."

The smallest sound. There was someone inside. Beau, this time. "Cousin Bart, it's Beau. Talk to us, Bart. Dr. Dooley's here with us. Can you answer us?"

A faint moan. A welcome sound to those outside. Beck spoke up. "He could be injured. Cole hit him hard enough to knock him out."

"Bart, it's your brother. Can you hear me? Are you hurt?"

"Bret, if he's physically hurt, and emotionally traumatized, he may not be able to answer you." This time it was the doctor, and not the friend, speaking.

Finally, from inside, a rustling sound. Then a scraping noise, and at last, a very muffled voice. "Bret?"

Bret was pacing frantically back and forth in front of the window when he heard his brother. "Bart? It's me. Are you alright?"

A barely perceptible "No." Followed a few seconds later by "You alone?"

"No. Beau and Beckham Dooley are with me."

That same frightened child voice. "Oh."

Bret was willing to do anything to help his brother, including sending away people that were there for the same reason. "Do you want them to leave?"

Another long stretch of silence. Then, finally, "Yes."

He turned around and looked at Cousin Beau, then at Dr. Dooley. "You heard him," he pleaded. "Please go."

Beau grabbed his arm. "I'm going back to the saloon. You come get me for anything. You hear me? Anything."

Beckham knew the best thing to do was leave. "See if you can get him talking and keep reassuring him. Don't promise anything you can't do. Don't pressure him. I'm going with Beau. Come and see me after you talk to him. We'll figure out where to go from there. Good luck." He joined Beau and they walked away together, back to 'Mavericks.' Bret turned back to the window and grabbed the bars.

"They're gone, Bart. Can you come over here?"

Silence continued, undisturbed, and then "I . . . . . . .I . . . . .don't know."

"Come on, little brother, just a few steps." When Bart was nine years old he'd gotten stuck on a log out in the river and Bret had kept him calm and verbally guided him back to shore with the same words. He heard some kind of unidentifiable sound, then a shuffling noise, and finally saw the form of his brother in what little moonlight was left. His coat and tie were off, he had a cut somewhere in his hairline above his left eye and a small blood trail ran past the eye and on down his face; he was drenched with sweat and appeared to have vomited down the front of his shirt. And the look on his face was a combination of confusion and terror, the same look when on the log. He came slowly across the cell floor until he was close enough to the window to wrap his hands around Bret's on the bars.

"You're safe now, Bart; I won't let go." The faintest smile appeared.


	22. Wasted

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 21 – Wasted

Marshal Travis Cole had no idea what kind of a hornet's nest he was walking into when he unlocked the front door at 6 a.m. He was curious to see what a night locked up in his jail had done for Maverick, if anything, but he never expected what he actually faced. No sooner had he put the key in the lock to the door than he felt a gun muzzle in his ribs. He stood still and waited – and heard a voice he didn't expect.

"Inside, Travis, before I blow your brains out right here on the sidewalk. A rather inglorious end for an illustrious career." The voice, and the gun, belonged to Bret Maverick.

"You do remember that I'm a U.S. Marshal, don't you, Maverick?" There was a smug tone to the question.

"And if you want to stay one for the time being you'll do what you're told," came the reply in a voice as cold as ice. "Or I can help the town find a marshal without a personal agenda. Your choice."

No sense arguing with a gun, reasoned the Marshal. Besides, he'd have both Mavericks in a jail cell shortly. So he pushed the door open and walked in, followed closely by Bret and the gun. Unexpectedly Beckham Dooley followed Bret in. The door slammed shut. "You're goin' to jail for a long time for this, you know. So why don't you just hand me the gun now and get it over with?" Cole turned to face Bret as he spoke and reached out with his hand for the gun.

Bret took half a step back and laughed. "When I get through with you you're gonna wish I'd shot you."

Travis wasn't worried about the gun or the threat. "Dr. Dooley, I'm surprised to see you a part of this."

Beck searched the marshal's desk for the keys to the cells. "Oh, I'm not. I'm the witness."

"Witness?" the marshal asked.

"To the crime," the doctor replied.

"What crime?"

"The crime committed when you assaulted and illegally arrested an innocent man," as the doctor found the keys and handed them to Bret. In exchange, Beckham took the gun, which he continued to hold on the marshal. "You should always check to make sure there are no witnesses when you bludgeon somebody and arrest them. And then gloat over how you're going to punish them. Ah, I see you understand what I'm talking about. Good. Have a seat, marshal, you're not going anywhere."

Beau Maverick came running in and took the gun from the doctor. "Go tend your patient, Doc."

Beck quickly followed Bret back to the cells. It only took a moment to find the right key and unlock the middle door. He opened it carefully and slowly, so not to startle the fragile man huddled against the back wall of the cell, one hand still clinging to the bars on the window. Bret walked just as carefully into the enclosure, talking to his brother softly the whole time. "Bart, come on now, son. It's your big brother. I'm here to take you outta this place. We're goin' home now." Bret reached a hand in Bart's direction. "Come on, come with me. Take my hand, I'll take you out."

Bart slowly let loose his grip on the bars and reached for Bret's hand. Just as their fingertips touched Bart pulled his hand away and shrank back against the wall. "Bret?" he asked, in that frightened, little boy voice.

Bret kept walking and finally there was no space between the two. He opened his arms and Bart leaned into them willingly as his brother enveloped him in the most important embrace of their lives. He felt Bart, tense and rigid at first touch, relax into him as his brother realized he was safe. He made a great gasping noise and shuddered while Bret held him close. He let go of Bart with one hand but kept an arm around his shoulders and began to walk him out of the cell. Beck picked up the damaged coat from the bed and put it over his arm. Bart stumbled once or twice but kept moving forward, guided out the cell door and through the jail hallway by his brother's steady hand.

Bret wasn't sure what Bart would do when he saw Travis Cole but there was no reaction – _'maybe no_ _recognition,_ ' Bret thought. They finally reached the door and Beckham stepped forward and opened it for them. Once they were outside Bret tossed the keys to the cells to Beau, who left them on the marshal's desk. He stuck Bret's gun in his waistband and backed out of the office, allowing the door to close behind him. Inside Travis sank into his chair and put his head in his hands, defeated.

The three men had already decided, on the doctor's advice, to take Bart the back way into the hotel. If he was in his own room it would be easier to deal with the aftermath of all this. Beck had already arranged for Doctor Thomas to man the office for however long it took to get Bart back on his feet. He hoped that once the gambler was in friendly surroundings he would respond quicker than being in the clinic.

It was slow going to get back to the hotel and everyone was glad they'd made the choice to take the alley. Once they got there Bret was more than willing to carry his brother up the stairs but Bart would have none of it, so they made a very short trip into a very long one. They went straight to room 221 and finally got Bart into bed. Bret and Beau undressed him, just as they had so many times as children, and Beck administered a mild dose of laudanum to relax him and help him sleep. The hope was that Bart would be much closer to the person they all knew after a long rest.

Bret took five minutes to go back to room 220 and explain to Marybeth what happened and why he was gone the rest of the night. He had no time to sooth her feelings or insecurities but she proved to be understanding and sent him right back to the room across the hall. Beau left to go to the ranch and bring back Georgia and Jody; Beck stayed with Bart in case he needed medical attention. Bret paced the floor, alternating between total silence and muttering to himself, things that sounded like "I'll kill him for this" and "If he knows what's good for him he'll leave town now."

An hour passed, then two, and at last the door opened and Jody came running in, caught and held away from the bed by Bret. "Let him sleep, honey. He had a tough night." She nodded and turned to Beckham.

"You're involved in this?" she asked him.

"I saw it all," he answered. "Then I went and got Bret. I'm afraid the damage had been done by the time we got there."

"How long are you staying?" was her next question.

"As long as it takes." She smiled at him; Beck Dooley really was a good man and friend. She walked back over to Bret. "How bad was it?"

He looked down at her and shook his head. He wasn't going to sugarcoat it. "Bad. Worse than I could have imagined, and I've seen him at his worst. Good thing you're not gonna marry Cole, cause I'd hate to be the man to make you such a young widow."

"You're not gonna kill him, Bret. I won't let you."

"Yes I am, Jody. You're not gonna stop me."

"Yes I am, Bret. You can't kill him – how would Bart feel, watching his brother hang for murder?"

"You mean if he is Bart when he comes back to us, don't you?"

She turned towards Beckham. "You were there, you saw him. What's your professional opinion?"

"That wasn't the man I know."

The door to the room opened again and Beau stood there. Georgia was behind him. "Jody, nobody knows what to expect. I was there, too. Bart wasn't . . . . . right. Whatever happened to cause that . . . . "

"Not hard to figure out what caused it," Bret interrupted. "Throwin' him back in the same cell caused it – and Travis Cole knew what he was doin'."

"Yes, he did," Jody agreed. "And it's all my fault."

"Jody, no, it's not your fault," Georgia spoke, at last.

"Yes, it is mama," her daughter answered. "If I hadn't broken the engagement this wouldn't have happened."

"And if you hadn't broken the engagement you would have married him and spent the rest of your life with that – that beast."

"There's no sense laying blame," Bret interjected. "There's only one person responsible, and he's sitting over in the jail."

Bret resumed his pacing, this time without the muttering. Beckham checked Bart to make sure he wasn't running a fever; Jody sat down to wait. Georgia pulled Beau out into the hall.

"I have to go to the saloon, Beau. There's nobody there and there's a million things to do."

Just as Beau and Georgia were having their conversation, Marybeth came out of Bret's room. She heard Georgia's remark and hurried over to them. "Georgia, I'd be glad to go down with you and do whatever I can to help out."

Georgia took Marybeth's hands in hers. "Thank you so much, Marybeth, I think that's a splendid idea. You can get a feel for the place and I can certainly use the help. That way everyone else can stay here. Can you come now?"

"Certainly, Georgia. Let's go."

"What a dear you are." She kissed Beau on the cheek and took the back staircase to the street, with Marybeth right behind her – smiling.

XXXXXXXX

Bart slept most of the day. Considering the trauma he'd been through the night before, Beck thought that was the best thing for him. Bret had once again switched into 'protective-at-all-costs' mode and wouldn't leave his bedside; Beau brought food up from downstairs and Bret waived it away, settling instead for Bart's favorite, black coffee. Beck ate whatever Beau brought and didn't care what it was, he was more than worried about the state that Bart would wake up in. Jody sat vigil and didn't leave, or eat, or sleep; several times Beau looked over to see Bret standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder, both of them watching the sleeping man.

Around six o'clock he stirred, and everyone in the room was immediately paying attention. Jody got up from her chair and made Bret sit, so when Bart woke up his brother would be the first person he saw. For a few minutes it appeared to be a false alarm, and then Bart slowly opened his eyes. It took a minute or more to focus, but when he finally did that same faint smile appeared. "Bret," he whispered, and his brother clasped his hand and leaned forward in the chair.

"I'm here, little brother. Know where you are?"

His eyes scanned the room, panicked at first but calmer as he realized this was no jail cell. "Hotel?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer. "Do you remember what happened?"

The answer was slow in coming. "Some." Fear flashed across his face and he struggled to sit up; Bret pushed him back down into the pillow.

"It's alright, Bart, you're safe. Just me and Beau and Jody. And the Doc. Beck, I mean. How ya feelin'?" Bret still held Bart's hand, and he could feel the tremors shaking his brother.

Bart let go of Bret's hand. "Better."

Jody came over and kneeled down on the floor next to the bed. She'd seen the movement to let go of Bret and she now reached over and took Bart's hand herself. She felt the tremors, too, and looked back at Bret, then turned her face back to Bart and smiled. "Darling Bartley. How are you really? Can you tell me?" She squeezed his hand but got no response.

He finally tried to answer her. "Not . . . . . good."

"Does your jaw still hurt?"

"Yes."

He was still shaking and it didn't seem to be from cold; it was warm in the room and Bart had a blanket covering him. Jody let go of his hand and he reached out for her; she moved aside so Beck could get closer.

"Bart, I want to look at a few things. Is that alright with you?" Beckham didn't want to upset Bart but he wanted to take a closer look at his eyes and the wound on his head.

"Sure."

Bret moved back out of the way so that the doctor could work. The wound was small and appeared to have closed by itself; Beckham didn't like the way Bart's eyes looked. He felt the tremors, too, and hoped those would slow down or cease soon. He moved back away from Bart and let Jody close again; then tapped Bret on the shoulder and indicated the hall. Bret got up and followed the doctor while Jody took his seat. Beau moved out into the hall with them.

"What is it, Doc?" Bret asked.

"I don't like the look of his eyes. Somethings not quite right but I can't put my finger on it. And the tremors aren't good, either. I need to keep an eye on him. I want to stay here tonight, if that's alright with you."

Bret nodded, anything Beck thought would help was fine with him. Beau finally asked "What do you think, Doctor? How is he?"

"Too soon to tell. We'll see how he does tonight. I'll know more in the morning." He put his hand on Bret's shoulder. "He's better than I expected, considering what the man you helped out of there looked like. But something happened in that cell, and we just have to wait and see how it affects him." He turned his focus to Bret. "You need to get some sleep. You certainly didn't get any last night."

"I'll sleep on the floor. I'm not leavin' him either. Beau?"

"Just like last time. I'm here too."

Bret chuckled slightly. "Looks like it's gonna be a crowded room tonight."


	23. Introspection and Deceit

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 22 – Introspection and Deceit

Bret was right indeed, it was a crowded room. Bret, Beau and Beckham all slept on the floor, although Bret and Beau were much more used to it than the doctor. Jody once again slept on the couch; this time there was no one to misconstrue her staying in the room.

Bret sat in the chair next to the bed for the longest time and watched his brother sleep; all that he kept thinking was _'How much can one man take before he breaks?'_ Had Bart reached the breaking point while he was locked up in that jail cell? He hoped not – too many men had been unable to come back from it. They'd both seen it when they were very young, in the Civil War days and the Yankee Prison camps. He'd seen it since then, too – gunfighters that had lost their nerve, cowboys who'd ridden in one too many stampedes – and it wasn't something he wanted for his brother.

He looked so peaceful as he slept – almost happy. And young. Like how many years hadn't gone by since they left Texas? They were still young, but right now Bret didn't feel that way. He'd spent too much time sitting at Bart's bedside, waiting to see which way his brother's life was going to go. Maybe Pappy was wrong. Maybe this life they'd been born into wasn't the best life they could have. If it was, why was his brother always getting hurt?

Right now he felt helpless, ill prepared to deal with this latest injury – the injury to the mind. What if Bart was no longer Bart? What if there were no more practical jokes, no more cheating at cards when they played each other, no more late nights filled with women and laughter? What would he do without his brother, his companion, his friend? What would Bart do with no more joy in his life?

Maybe he was worried for nothing. He remembered a time when Bart was seven, and he was nine, and his brother fell off the roof of the barn and broke both his legs. He swore he'd never even go into the loft of the barn again; yet three days after the casts came off there he was, climbing on the roof like he'd never fallen. Maybe that's what would transpire this time. Bart would get up and dust himself off, like he'd never fallen, and get right back on the roof.

But still the feeling haunted him that this time was different. Something happened in that jail cell, the doctor said, and everything was forever changed. All Bret could do was hope and pray that wasn't true. He'd done his best to protect Bart, but his best wasn't always good enough. It hadn't been this time; he'd been unprepared for the trouble that Bart saw coming. What else could he do besides sit yet again at his brother's bedside and berate himself?

His attention shifted and he looked at Beau, asleep on the floor next to him. The third brother. So different and yet so alike. Lightness to their darkness. Beau, who caused him no worry, no pain. Who was always there when needed. Solid and steady, the worst thing Beau had ever done was win a medal in the war. He was the odd man out when the three of them were together now; the years in England changed him just enough. He'd left a brother and returned a cousin. Bret didn't always know what he was thinking, unlike when they were children growing up. This marrying and settling down business – he couldn't understand that. Maybe he would someday. For now he was just glad that Beau was there – the burden to be carried was a little lighter because of it.

And then there was Jody. As much a Maverick as the three men, she was a world unto herself. Stubborn and independent, her love and loyalty were fierce. He hadn't gotten close to her before, but her affection for Bart was unwavering. If they had a sister, it would be Jody. And trouble seemed to follow her the way it did Bart. She was more like his brother than he cared to admit. Best to just accept her as part of their family, their world, and love her as such.

His attention wandered back to Bart, still sleeping. ' _Ah, Brother Bart. Where would we be without each other?'_ Bart stirred in his sleep, restless and weary, and Bret reached out and brushed the hair off his face. _'What can I do for you, my brother? How can I ease your pain?_ ' Maybe he couldn't do anything right now, but he could make sure this nightmare wasn't repeated. One way or the other, the man who had once been a help to them had to be dealt with.

Bret yawned and knew that he was finally ready for sleep. He eased himself out of the chair and onto the floor, put all his demons down for the night and closed his eyes. _'Sweet Morpheus, come and take all the suffering and pain from my brother and give it to me; it's my turn to carry the load.'_ He'd kill Travis Cole tomorrow.

XXXXXXXX

All this misfortune for the Maverick clan had helped Connie immensely. It provided her with the opportunity to get 'in' with Georgia Mayfield and learn the answers to all the questions that Logan had. Who and where and when and how were all answered just by being a helpful soul. It was all so easy she wanted to laugh but with the somber mood felt all around she didn't dare.

Once Georgia decided to close down the office for the night Connie went out into the saloon and had a cup of coffee. Logan was there, drinking and flirting with one of the girls and she waited until he looked her way and indicted the front door. As soon as she finished she left the saloon and walked outside, when he appeared at the door Connie went around the far end of the building and waited. In a few minutes Logan followed and they were alone and obscured from public view in the alley.

"How did you manage this so quickly?" he questioned when she handed him a piece of paper with all the information he needed on it.

"Maverick misfortune," she answered. He looked at her quizzically but decided not to ask – she had what he wanted and that was enough.

"I still need a couple more night here," was the next thing he told her. "In case something's different later on in the week."

She filled him in on the occurrences' of the last twenty-four hours and he shook his head in disbelief. "Unlucky for them – lucky for us," was his opinion.

"I'm leaving before anybody sees me," she told him and went back out front before he could pressure her for anything else. Her task accomplished, she headed back to the hotel, certain that she would sleep alone this night. Bret had already made it clear he would be in his brother's room tonight. That was alright; maybe he would miss her.


	24. Whenever You Remember

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 23 – Whenever You Remember

Beau thought he was the first one awake. He was surprised; he was not an early riser. Poor Georgia could certainly attest to that. He managed to get out of the blanket he was wrapped up in without walking on anybody else, and it wasn't until he was standing up that he saw Bart was awake, too. Beau picked his way through the bodies on the floor and deposited himself in the chair next to the bed.

"Cousin Bart, how are you doing this morning?"

Bart gave his cousin a sad smile and said "Yeah."

"Yeah?" Beau questioned.

"Fine," Bart corrected.

"I'm a tad skeptical about that, Bart. Wanna try something else?"

"Lousy?"

"That I'd believe. Anything hurt besides your jaw?"

"Head."

"Sorry, can't do much about that. Bret finally told me about the aspirin problem. How about some water this morning?"

"Sure."

Beau got the water glass off the dresser and came back to the bed. He got his arm under Bart's pillow and raised his cousin's head until he could drink. The glass was empty when Bart finished and Beau set it down on the floor. "Better?" he asked.

"Better," came the reply.

"Anything I can do for you? How about some food? And don't you dare say 'coffee'!"

Bart just gave him the sad smile again. "Okay."

Beau was still for a moment; trying to think of the right thing to say. Finally he asked, "You know you can talk to me, don't you? I mean, tell me anything you want. I can still keep your confidence, you know."

"I know."

"I mean, I've never told anyone about the flying turtles, have I? Because I swore not to."

"Beau?"

"Yes, Bart?"

"Nothin' to tell."

Beau watched his cousin's face for any sign of subterfuge. There was none. "Bart, I saw you when Bret took you out of that jail. Somethin' awful happened in there."

Bart replied very quietly. "Don't remember."

Beau knew when to let something go. "Okay, Cousin. Whatever you say. I 'll go get you some food. Yes, and some coffee."

Beau started to get up and Bart grabbed his arm. "Thanks, Beau."

Was that for the food or the discretion? It didn't matter to Beau. Whatever the demons that Bart had faced in that jail cell would remain buried. At least for the time being.

XXXXXXXX

It had been twenty-four hours since the Mavericks hijacked his jail and he was still waiting for the rest of the repercussions. He couldn't believe that Bret hadn't shot him yesterday morning; from everything he'd seen and heard he was the easy-going brother, the one with no temper. No one that saw him yesterday would believe that.

He had to admit that his attempted payback of the younger brother had been a foolish indiscretion. He was angry, and felt betrayed, and wanted revenge. He was going to marry the woman, for heaven's sake. And she betrayed him with that? That shell Bret had walked out of here?

So he waited. Expecting, wanting, dreading. It wouldn't be the doctor – he was only the 'witness.' It wouldn't be the cousin – that English fop who pretended to be a Maverick. No, there was no doubt in his mind – it would be the oldest – the one that professed to be a coward but secretly held the gleam in his eyes of a killer. Yep, Bret was the one he had to watch. That's where it would come from. And he would be ready.

XXXXXXXX

By the time Beau returned with bacon, eggs and coffee everyone was awake. Doctor Dooley was asking Bart questions; Bret and Jody were in the corner of the room talking.

"Doc, I hate to interrupt, but I think it's time to feed the man." Beau had already handed Bart coffee, he wanted to make sure the eggs were eaten before they got cold. Bart normally would use practically any excuse not to eat, and Beau didn't want to give him one.

Bret pulled the doctor away and Jody helped Beau prop Bart up in bed so he could eat. Then she took his coffee away so he would.

Bret and Beck once again adjourned to the hallway to talk. Once Beau saw that Jody had breakfast under control he joined them.

"Alright, Doctor Dooley, what do you think now that it's morning?" Bret didn't want to waste time; he needed to know just how Bart was responding to time and rest.

"I think he's fine physically," Beckham explained. "His eyes look much better this morning. I'm not worried like I was last night. What gives me pause is his mental state. He says he doesn't remember what happened after Travis hit him. I think he doesn't want to remember. That's probably normal under the circumstances; but at some point he will remember, and it might push him to a place he doesn't want to go. And I've noticed something odd about his speech. He uses the wrong word for things sometimes."

Beau nodded his head at that. "I noticed that this morning. I asked him how he was and he answered 'yeah' – then he corrected himself to 'fine'. What's causing that, Doctor Dooley?"

"Could be that blow on the head – considering the beating he suffered two years ago, it wouldn't surprise me. If it gets worse let me know. Otherwise, I think he's good whenever he decides he is. I'm going home and then back to the clinic. Get him in to see me tomorrow –we'll see how things are then."

"Anything we can do to help him, Beck?" That was Bret.

"Don't push him into anything he doesn't want to do. And don't try to get him to remember – he will when he wants to. And nothing too strenuous for a few days. Put Jody in charge of him – she'll keep him on the straight and narrow," he laughed.

Bret put his arm around Beck's shoulders. "Thanks, Beck. You saved his life when you came and got me. I don't know what we would've found if we'd waited till morning. I don't think I can ever repay you for that."

Beau got a gleam in his eye. He'd seen the way the doctor looked at Jody. "Oh, I might have an idea about that, Cousin Bret. I'll fill you in later."

Bret and Beau shook hands with Beckham and the doctor turned to go. His last remark echoed in Bret's mind, at least. "Don't do something you'll regret later, Bret. Bart needs his brother."

The cousins went back in to Bart's room. Jody was telling him one of her many stories about Jessie and Bart was listening to her, seemingly enraptured. "What are you gonna do about Cole?" Beau asked.

"Nothing. For now. Let him worry about that for a while. I've got a more important priority."

"You mean Bart?"

"Yep. There's somethin' I need to take care of right now. Will you stay until I get back?"

"Not goin' to the jail, are you?" Beau asked, just to be sure.

"Not leavin' the hotel," Bret answered.

"Ah, Marybeth."

"Yep. I need to tell her. I'll be back soon."

"Sure you will," Beau told him. "I'll just hold my breath until you get back."

"You'd look good in blue," Bret answered, and was gone before Beau had a chance to reply.


	25. Timmy and the Bee Hive

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 24 – Timmy and the Bee Hive

He walked into the room and it was still dark. There was just enough light to see that she was in bed, with the covers pulled up to her chin.

"Marybeth, wake up. I need to talk to you."

"Hmmmm. Bret?"

"That's me." He sat down on the bed.

"How is he?" She asked sleepily.

"He's alright physically. Slept all night. Seems to be more alert this mornin'."

"Are you back to stay?" Marybeth lazily traced a pattern on his leg with her finger.

He grabbed her wrist to stop her. "No. I need to be with him today."

"But you said he was alright," she protested.

"I said he was alright physically. He still needs me."

"I need you, too."

"He's my brother, Marybeth."

She leaned on her elbow in the bed. He could see her outline under the blanket and knew she was naked. "And what am I?"

He wanted to be honest with her but he didn't want to hurt her. "I . . . . . . don't know."

Well, that was better than some of the answers he could have given her, and it was the truth.

She sighed. He still had hold of her wrist and she could see him watching her. "Fair enough. I promised Georgia I would help her today, anyway. Maybe you'll be back tonight." She pulled her arm away from his grasp and rolled across the bed, losing the blanket in the process. She saw his eyes follow her. He got up from the bed to leave and leaned over to kiss her good-bye; she grabbed his tie and pulled him down to her. As they kissed he took her in his arms and she knew in that moment she had him.

XXXXXXXX

Bart hadn't gone back to sleep but had indicated no desire to get out of bed. He laid there and listened to Jody tell him about Jessie; the more she talked the closer he felt to the aunt he never knew. There were so many parallels between him and Jessie; it sounded like he was as similar her as Bret was to Pappy.

It was a nice distraction for both of them. Jody didn't think about Travis and Bart didn't think about the jail. Beau joined them and listened to the stories; Jessie was his aunt, too, and he was eager to know more about the woman whose passing had set all this in motion.

Jody observed that Bart didn't ask any questions. It seemed like he was interested in what she could tell him but had no curiosity about anything additional. That struck her as odd; Bart had a quick mind and had questions about everything.

Bret had been gone for almost an hour when they heard the door to the room open. Neither turned around but Jody saw a look of panic cross Bart's face; she and Beau glanced at the same moment. The man standing behind them was Travis Cole.

Jody jumped up and stood in front of Bart; Beau went for his gun but Travis was quicker and had his Colt out in seconds. Beau wisely dropped his hand – he was already beaten, there was no sense getting shot. "I didn't come here to cause trouble, Beauregard."

"What did you come for, Marshal?" Beau asked sarcastically.

"I came to tell you that I've decided not to file charges against you and your cousin for unlawful removal of a prisoner. And since no witnesses have come forward to support the charges against your other cousin, the one hiding behind my ex-fiancée, I'm dropping those. He'll have to come to the jail in person to collect his belongings."

"You snake. How could you treat another human being the way you did Bart?" Jody spit at him.

"Just doing my job. I had a complaint I had to investigate." Travis finally holstered his gun.

"By arresting a man you knew was innocent and locking him up in that dungeon you call a jail?"

"Exactly," Travis told her. "According to procedure."

"Remind me not to get accused of anything in this town," Beau stated.

A sound echoed through the room. It was the sound of a gun hammer being pulled back. "You make a real good target, Travis."

The marshal didn't turn around. He didn't need to. "Maverick."

"What do you want here?"

"Ask your cousin. I told him."

Bret looked to Beau, who nodded. "Get out."

"We're not done, Maverick. You and me."

Bret laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "Get out, Cole, before I change my mind and shoot you."

Travis turned around to face Bret. That same look was in Maverick's eyes, that I-could-kill-you-if-given-half-a-chance look. The coward in Bret Maverick didn't exist when it came to his brother.

"GET OUT NOW."

The marshal finally took him seriously and walked back out the way he'd come. Bret slammed the door behind him. "How did he get in here?"

Beau was defensive. "I left the door unlocked for you. You were supposed to be right back."

"Sorry. I . . . . . got cleaned up."

"So I see." Beau figured that wasn't all Bret had done.

Jody hurriedly turned back to Bart. The panicked look was gone, but he was still uneasy. "Bartley, it's alright. He won't be back again." Then she added the question. "You know that was Travis? Do you remember when you saw him last?"

One word, said with disdain. "Jail."

She wanted to distract him. "How about getting up and getting dressed? You've got to be tired of lying in that bed." She offered her hand to him and he took it.

"Okay."

Jody glanced over at Beau. "Some help here?"

Beau chuckled slightly. "Time for you to go, Jody. Bret and I will handle this."

XXXXXXXX

The next time she saw Bart he looked more like her brother and less like the fragile soul that had emerged from the jail. "Feeling better?" she asked.

He smiled at her and nodded. That was certainly an improvement, but he still didn't seem like himself. He was too quiet, and entirely too passive. "Beck says you're fine, physically. Want to go for a short walk? We can go anywhere you'd like."

Bret and Beau had gone to the dining room to get some food, and Jody and Bart were alone. "Saloon."

"Are you sure? It's going to be awfully quiet this time of day."

"No." Bart blinked as if trying to retrieve the word he'd just said. "Yeah. It's okay."

"Ready to go?"

"Sure." He took her arm, not really sure who was escorting whom.

They walked slowly out to the hall and down the hotel stairs. Jody saw the boys in the dining room and waved; Bret started to get up but Beau stopped him. "Let them go, Uncle Beauregard," Beau commented.

The sun was bright once they left the hotel, and Jody shielded her eyes from the light. Bart never looked at the jail; he simply turned toward the saloon and walked. His stride got steadier with every step he took. By the time they reached the batwing doors the pace seemed almost normal.

Once they got inside Bart picked a table and sat down, facing the doors but with a view of the whole saloon. Alvin brought coffee. Bart seemed content to just sit and watch goings on in the place, as if seeing everything for the first time. Frankie Slade saw them and started to come over to the table; Jody waved her away. Bart took no notice.

"Do you want to play poker?" Jody asked. She could probably round up enough men for a game.

"No," came the reply. "Not now."

She'd never seen him this quiet and still. What had happened in that jail cell?

"Do you want anything else?" She kept asking questions in the hope of eliciting more than a one word response, but it didn't seem to be working.

"No."

They sat for about a half hour without talking; finally Bret and Beau drifted in and sat at the table with them.

"Glad to see you up, Cousin Bart. How's the head now?"

"Better," was the only answer heard.

Then Bret tried his hand at engaging his brother in conversation. "Clothes are gettin' low again. My tailor in Denver's still got a couple coats you looked at. He wants to know which were your favorites and he can get 'em ready for you. What do you think, Bart?"

Bret got nothing beyond some silence followed by "Don't care."

"Really? Cause he can make another one like the one that got ruined if you want."

Finally Bart turned to his brother. "I don't care, Bret. What difference does it make?"

That was an alarming reply from a man who was as fastidious about his appearance as Bart was. Bret and Beau exchanged glances and Beau immediately got up from the table. "Uh, I just remembered I have to do something. I'll be back." And Beau was gone.

Jody looked to Bret for an answer to Beau's hurried departure. "Beck."

Bart looked up at the mention of his friend's name. "I don't need a doctor."

"Then what's goin' on? You haven't said ten words all day."

The jokester, the man who never stopped talking once you got him started, the gambler who wanted to know everything about everything, had only a sullen sounding reply to his brother's question. "Don't have anything to say."

Again, the silence followed. Even Jody couldn't think of anything to ignite Bart's curiosity. He just sat, quiet and still, and watched his surroundings. The only change in his expression came when he finally saw Frankie across the room and she gave a little wave. Then a very slight smile creased the corners of his mouth.

A few minutes later Beck and Beau came breezing back in. "Well, it's been quite a morning," Beck announced. "Timmy Kelton, Johnny's little brother, decided that a bee hive would make a fine toy. Even the dog got stung. Then Mrs. Tanner's gout flared up again, and Maude Walden brought Susie in with a rash like nothing I've ever seen. How's everybody here?"

Everybody nodded, smiled, and murmured something appropriate, except Bart. He continued to watch the doctor but made no comment. Beck wasn't going down to defeat that easily. "How about you, Bart? What have you been up to this morning?"

"Not much."

Beckham looked from Bret to Beau to Jody and then back to Bart. "That's all you've got for me?"

"That's all."

Beck finally shrugged his shoulders. "Okay." He got up from the table and walked outside. Beau ran after him.

"Wait, Doc. What do we do now?"

"Nothing, Beau. Remember I told you not to try and force him to do anything he doesn't want to do? Well, he doesn't want to talk. Leave him be. When he's got something to say, he'll say it."

"And until then?"

"Enjoy the peace and quiet."


	26. The Best Laid Plans

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 25 – The Best Laid Plans

Beckham Dooley returned to the clinic and worked the rest of the afternoon. He stitched up a sliced arm, treated a two-month old baby for a cold, and saw Mrs. Tanner for the second time that day. Around six o'clock he was thinking of closing up and heading home when one more person came through the clinic doors – Jody Mayfield.

"I was wondering if you had anything you could give me to help with my problem," she told him.

"I didn't know you had a problem, Jody. What's wrong?"

"I'd tell you I had a broken heart but I think I'm too mad for it to be broken. Have you got anything for a fool who picked the wrong man to marry? And if you do, will it taste very bad?"

"You know, I think I have just the thing for a problem like that. And it tastes much better than expected."

Jody looked at him as if she'd seen him for the first time. "And just what is this miracle cure, doctor?"

"I believe it's called having dinner with me," Beck responded.

"Isn't the doctor afraid he might catch what I have?"

"He can only hope," Beck smiled at her. "Are you ready to take your medicine, Miss Mayfield?"

"Right now, doctor?"

"Right now. Unless you're not hungry yet."

She threw her head back and laughed. She felt better than she had for several days. "I'm starved."

"Then let's proceed with the administering of the medicine." He took her arm and they left the clinic together. They didn't see the marshal watching them from across the street. And what's more, they didn't care.

XXXXXXXX

At least this time she didn't have to ride out in a dress. She didn't want to come out here at all but Percy had arrived to fetch her and she knew how Logan would react if she didn't go. She didn't want to know what the plan was; her part was done. She just wanted it over and wanted Logan to leave her alone.

He was determined that she had to be in on everything, just in case something went wrong. It had served them well in the past, this plan, and he saw no reason to change now. If this was their last job together then he was determined that it would really be 'together.'

Once again she found him sitting at the table drinking. This time he had a glass for her and he was a whole lot friendlier. "Join me?" he asked as he poured.

"Sure, why not? We can drink to old times."

"Old times?" he reiterated. "Old times? What's got you sentimental? That fancy man a yours not lookin' so fancy anymore?"

"He's fine. Don't you worry about it. Just shut up and drink."

Logan had no trouble doing just that. When they were done he asked "Another?"

"Sure, why not?" She drank that one a little slower. "Alright, let's hear it."

"They close at three o'clock on Friday and Saturday and midnight on Sunday. The money gets counted and put in a strong box. That gets locked upstairs in a desk drawer in the big cheese's desk. There it sits until Monday morning. That means we've got to get it out sometime after midnight and before eight o'clock Monday. That's when Mayfield comes in and takes it to the bank. The back door is locked and has a chain on it, but the key to the chain is in the cash box behind the bar. The key to the back door and the upstairs desk is in the night manager's office, under the middle drawer in the cabinet by the outer wall. They're all gone by one o'clock on Sunday night. That's about all. Oh wait – there's a double barrel shotgun behind the bar, loaded. There's no guards, nobody watchin' the place. It's foolproof. This is gonna be one hell of a job, Connie."

"Just don't screw it up, huh Logan?"

His tone was ugly. "Whatta ya mean, screw it up?"

"Like Kansas City? The bartender you killed? I'd call that screwin' it up."

"He wasn't supposed to be there. He got himself killed, comin' in like that. You shot him first."

"Yeah, but you killed him. I just winged him."

Logan looked at her like she was crazy. "He knew what we looked like, Connie. What was I supposed to do?"

"He had a wife and kids, Logan."

"Then he shouldn't a been workin' in a saloon."

"Can you try to get away clean this time?"

He watched her play with her drink as he poured himself another. "Come on, Connie, six bank robberies and three saloons. And only two dead men. I think that's pretty good odds."

She looked up from her glass. "Two? Who was the other one?"

"That kid in Abilene, the one that tried to play hero."

"Oh yeah, I forgot him. Didn't mind that so much, he was a little snippy to the customers."

"Another one in the wrong place at the wrong time. If these people would just stay out of places they have no business in, they wouldn't be dead."

"Let's hope everybody plays their part right."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem here. When they close that place up, they close it up. Everybody's out of there when they're supposed to be."

"I want 'em all alive, Logan. These are good people. I like 'em."

"Gettin' soft on me, Connie? Be careful you don't get in too deep with these folks. For when your fancy man dumps you."

"That's it, I'm outta here. You're doin' this Sunday night, right?"

"Yep. Sometime after one in the mornin'. You meet me in the back alley at twelve thirty. Percy'll be there with the wagon. And don't be late."

"Yes, sir. I hear you, sir. I'll be there." She got up from the table and set the empty glass down. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Yep." He watched her walk out the door for the last time. Four more days and he'd be out of here. And if he knew Connie at all, she'd be with him.


	27. Demon Du Jour

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 26 – Demon Du Jour

He was content to be back in his room. Everything today was so noisy – and frantic. Everybody kept asking him all day how he was. Trying to make him talk about things he had no interest in. They'd finally been willing to bring him back to the hotel. Of course they'd insisted he eat dinner – and he tried, he really tried. Bret and Beau just wouldn't leave him alone until he'd convinced them he was tired and wanted to go back to his room.

It was quiet here. Peaceful. He could sit in this room and try to forget what he didn't want to remember. The darkness, the cold and fear, the absolute panic that set in when he realized where he was and that he was locked up again. The desperate gamble to try and hold onto reality. He thought of the nights locked in the Yankee prison camp; the nights locked in the jail cell. They were all the same. No wonder he couldn't stand to stay in one place too long.

He looked out the window in his room but didn't see the street below – he saw the gallows being built outside – his gallows. Built just to hang him for a crime he didn't commit. The days and nights he sat in that cell and looked out the window; watching his life slip away, minute by minute. Realizing he was really going to die – and then walking up the steps, with his hands bound behind his back in handcuffs. Every second of those terrifying days coming back to him when he woke up in the same cell – and he wondered if his life since then had all been a dream – and he was still waiting for the hangman. His mind and his body revolting against the inevitable – that's why he'd thrown himself at the bars in the cell – anything to get out - to get away. Even if it meant death.

They didn't need to know that he remembered everything – from the moment he saw Travis Cole walking toward him as he stood at the clinic door – until the moment they'd put him to bed in this very room. It played over and over in his head, leaving room for nothing else. His worst nightmare come true. All of them there to bear witness to the disintegration of his sanity; at least they'd only seen the end result, and not the whole progression that occurred in the dark hours in that jail cell. He saw the look in his brother's eyes – sorrow, pity, despair, anger. Anger he'd never seen before. Anger he never wanted to see again.

Would he see those same emotions if they knew what he was thinking – the pictures going through his mind like an ever moving train on a circular track – over and over again, replaying the beating, the arrest, the trial, the too-close-for-comfort hanging, the last-minute rescue. On his cousin's face? On his sister's face?

He was worn out from the struggle going on in his head. He just wanted it all to stop; to turn it off and let him get back to something resembling normal. He wasn't sure he knew what that was. Or how to get there. Maybe he should do what he'd told them he was going to do – sleep and let Morpheus take over. Blessed relief – until the nightmares invaded his slumber.

Better to deal with the thoughts in his conscious mind. So he pulled up a chair to the window, sat in the dark hotel room and stared out into the black night – and waited for his demons to arrive.

XXXXXXXX

"Should one of us stay with him tonight?" This was asked by Beau, after he and Bret had taken Bart back to dinner and his hotel room. He'd been uneasy all evening about their decision to honor Bart's request to return to the quiet of his room. There was a feeling of dread he couldn't shake and he needed his cousin's reassurance that they'd done the right thing.

"He's a grown man, Beau. There's nothing physically wrong with him. If he wants to be alone he's got a right to be."

"Still – did we do the right thing? What if he needs somebody and there's nobody there?"

Bret had an answer for that. "I'm right across the hall, Beau. If he needs me I'm ten feet away."

"Ten feet and a woman."

"Look who's talking."

"That's different. Georgia and I are practically married. And when this mess is all over with we will be. What about you and Marybeth?"

"What about us?"

Beau was not amused. "You know what I mean. What are you going to do with Marybeth when you leave?"

Bret laughed quietly. Beau was awfully concerned about his romantic life. "I don't know. A lot depends on how long we're here. She's a hell of a woman, Beau. There's way more there than meets the eye."

"Did Bart ever remember why she looked familiar?"

"Nope. I don't imagine he will, now. He's got way more important things bothering him. "

"There's gotta be a way to help him, Bret."

His cousin had no idea how much Bret wanted to believe that. "I don't know. I'd do just about anything in the world for him. I know you would too. I just don't think there's anything we can do. I think this one's all up to Bart."

"Damn Travis Cole." Beau declared that with as much venom as he was capable of.

"It was only a matter of time," Bret finally offered. "He's been carryin' this around for two years. Bout time he put it down and fought with it."

"Maybe he should stay out of Montana." Beau followed that with a disparate chuckle. It was sad, funny and true.

"Doesn't seem to be much peace here, does there?" Bret idly shuffled the deck of cards in his hands; he'd been playing with them since they sat at the table. "Game?"

"Playin' for real or playin' family style?" Family style always implied that the dealer got to cheat. It was the way the Maverick's played when they played poker with each other.

"Either way's fine."

XXXXXXXX

Connie left the cabin Logan had appropriated as his hide out; Marybeth returned to town. She had Percy deposit her in the alley behind the hotel; it was much easier to slip in the back entrance than the front. She wasn't surprised that Bret still wasn't back; he'd made it clear that his brother, at least for the time being, was his priority.

As she changed clothes she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Logan had threatened Bret's life. That was the only reason she was willing to participate in 'one last job,' as he was fond of calling it. There was no question which one she'd protect, given the choice between the two of them. Logan was a criminal, a cutthroat gunslinger who'd used her until he tired of her and then still wouldn't let her go. Bret was a gambler, a ladies man who knew how to treat a woman, and fiercely protective of his loved ones. It was past time to disassociate with Logan Doran. But what if Bret Maverick left town and didn't take her with him? Could she go back to the life she'd lived before Logan came along and turned her into a felon? That was the question, wasn't it?

She was tired. Bret or no Bret, she was going to bed. She'd worry after this was all over, and she knew just what she was dealing with. If everyone was still alive when it was all over.


	28. Poker is a Game

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 27 – Poker is a Game

As the days passed, things changed subtly. Jody found that she really enjoyed Beck's form of medicine – he was funny, and smart, and thrilled to have gotten another chance with the woman he loved; this time he wouldn't waste it. Beck couldn't be any happier, unless Jody married him.

Beau and Georgia started making wedding plans of their own. They decided to use the August first date that Jody had scheduled; Bret and Bart both promised to stay in Silver Creek until then.

Bret started playing poker and Bart soon followed, but there was a difference in Bart's game. The joking, fun loving gambler was gone. The man that played was quiet and serious; it seemed like the joy had gone out of the game for him. Bret worried, he'd played with Bart since they were practically babies and he'd never seen his brother this way.

Bart knew where all the high stakes poker games were; he played practically all day and all night. His concentration made him an even more frequent winner. The original fifteen thousand dollars Bart had wired to the bank in Silver Creek soon grew to twenty thousand, then twenty five.

On Friday night Travis Cole came into the saloon. He wasn't wearing his badge. Howard was tending bar; he immediately got word to Bret's table that Cole was there and drinking heavily. Beau found out quickly, too, and it was the minority owner that went behind the bar and sent Howard to the other end so that he could pour the marshals drinks.

Travis downed first one, then a second, then a third before he said anything. "Where's that cousin of yours?" he asked Beau.

"Oh, I don't know. He's around here somewhere."

"I wanna see him. And pour me another drink."

"Why, Marshal? Did you have official business with him?" Beau had gotten very good at playing dumb.

"I'm not here as the marshal. See, no badge? Tonight I'm just an ordinary fella, like everybody else in this town."

"I don't know where Bret is. Do you want me to give him a message?"

"Yes. No. I'm tired of playin' games with him."

"My cousin doesn't play games, Marshal." He was doing his level best to aggravate the now inebriated man in front of him.

"Yes he does. I came here for him to get it over with. If he's gonna shoot me, shoot me."

' _I'm sure he'd like to,_ ' thought Beau. "Believe me. He's not trying to shoot you, Marshal."

"Travis. I told you, I'm not here as the marshal." That was obvious; he was ready to knock back shot number five.

"I think you've had enough, Travis."

"Not nearly. I can still see you."

"You're drunk, Cole, and you're not welcome in this saloon any more. Not as long as I own part of it. Get out."

Beau turned to Howard at the other end of the bar. Howard didn't like the marshal to begin with; Beau was going to make him a very happy man. "Howard, come down here and help me throw Travis out."

"Yes, SIR, Mr. Beau. Be glad to help."

Between Beau and Howard, Travis Cole was forcibly escorted to the batwing doors and ejected. "And don't come back."

The drunken marshal made a wise decision to keep his mouth shut and leave. About an hour later Bret found Beau sitting at a table drinking tea and joined him. Howard was quick with a cup of coffee for the former owner.

"Heard you had an unwanted visitor tonight."

Beau gave a kind of ironic laugh. "Yeah, we did. Too bad you missed him. He was asking for you."

"Oh? Just to say hello?"

"I'm sure that was part of it."

"Seriously, Beau, what did he want?"

A smile spread across his cousin's face. "He wanted you to quit playing games and shoot him."

Bret laughed at that one. "Well, why didn't you send for me? I woulda been glad to accommodate him."

"Yeah, I thought you might. That's why."

Bret put on a scowl for his cousin. "You take all the fun out of things."

"Have you seen Bart tonight?"

"Yeah," Bret replied. "He was here earlier playing. Left about ten o'clock with Frankie Slade. Hope he was goin' to teach her poker." Both Mavericks laughed.

Beau was still chuckling as he said, "I'm all for anything that puts a smile on his face. You've heard the talk, haven't you?"

"About Bart's poker playing with the high rollers? Yep, I just didn't know how true it was."

"It's true. If he's done half as well as the rumors, then he's done very well indeed."

They sat quietly for a moment; it was getting late and the noise in the saloon was beginning to dwindle. "Have you noticed any changes in him recently, Cousin Beau?"

Beau shook his head sadly. "Nope, not since . . . . . the jail. He doesn't say much, he doesn't laugh and joke. Not even with Jody. Doctor keeps saying he'll come out of it, but I don't know."

"It's worse than that. I think he lied that first morning. When he said he didn't remember? I think he remembers it all and that's the problem."

"Then he's got to learn to deal with it or it'll break him."

Bret looked at Beau with an utterly serious expression. "I think it already did."


	29. When All Else Fails

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 28 – When All Else Fails

Saturday passed without incident. Wherever Travis Cole disappeared to after his ejection from 'Mavericks' he stayed; no one saw him on Saturday. Beau hoped he was nursing a massive hangover. Bret still wished he'd known Travis was looking for him, he would have been more than happy to accommodate the marshal's desire to 'get it over with.'

Bart appeared just in time for lunch, still serious but in a lighter mood. He made no mention of Frankie or anything that had or hadn't occurred after they left the saloon. Bret was not about to question him; Bart was a grown man.

Beckham and Beau joined the brothers in the hotel dining room. They'd promised supper out to the ladies and decided to meet again around nine at the new café that had opened on the edge of town. Bart begged off, citing his solitary status; when Beau suggested bringing Frankie Bart dismissed the idea with a quick "she has to work" and the notion was dropped.

Beck took a good luck at Bart's jaw before heading back to the clinic. The swelling was all gone and the purple bruise had begun to fade. The wound on his head had closed and was healing as it should. Beckham pronounced Bart mostly healed; Bret wondered what he would say about the gambler's mental state. In order to find out he walked back to the clinic with the doctor.

"He's not the person I first met, that's for sure," was Beck's first remark. "But he doesn't seem that far removed from the old Bart."

"I haven't seen my brother in a week," Bret told him. "There's no Joie de vivre, no practical jokes, no smiles, nothing but serious expressions and dour looks. And poker. My god, Beck, he must be amassing a fortune playing from everything I've heard. When he's not playing he sits in that hotel room and broods. How long can this go on?"

They'd reached the clinic and Bret followed the doctor into his office. "Sit down, Bret. We need to have a serious talk."

That didn't sound good and Bret sat in nervous anticipation. "Why do I think this is something I don't want to hear?"

"Because," explained the doctor, "that's exactly what it is. I saw the man that came out of that cell as well as you did. Something happened in there. Bart's the only one that knows what it was, whether he chooses to remember it or not. The simplest explanation is that it changed him. Good or bad, temporary or permanent, the Bart you knew as your brother isn't the same Bart he is now. You're going to have to accept that."

Bret sat in Beck's office, in this town that had caused them nothing but pain and misery, and lowered his head into his hands. The thought that the boy he'd raised, the free-spirited, fun-loving man that he'd become, might be gone forever broke his heart. When he finally raised his head there were tears standing in his eyes. It took a long time before he could gather himself enough to speak.

"He's my brother, doctor, and I'll love him no matter what. But I can't let myself believe the boy he was is gone forever and that's what we get in its place. If that's it I'm gonna kill Travis Cole as soon as I leave this office."

"It may well be, Bret. Not a damn thing you can do about it. Treat him the same. Accept him the way he is now. Don't make him feel like this alternate persona isn't good enough. Maybe, with enough time, his old personality will slip back in. But I wouldn't count on it."

The older brother sat in Beckham's chair and considered everything he'd just been told. He knew it was the truth and he had to live with it; otherwise it would drive him mad. He stood to go and reached across the desk to shake Beck's hand; not a happier man but a more enlightened one than when he'd entered. "Thanks, Beckham. We'll see you at nine tonight."

Beck watched Bret walk out of his office and felt sympathy for his new friend; he'd just been told that the brother he'd known all his life might never return. He got up from his desk and went to the window, watching Bret walk down the sidewalk, still stunned by the news he'd received. 'Down' was the significant word; at least he hadn't gone across the street to the marshal's office.

Bret was still in a state of shock when he entered the saloon. Beau was standing at the bar talking to Alvin and Bret walked right behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Georgia's private stock, poured a shot and drank it. He coughed and sputtered but kept it down, then joined Beau at the other side of the bar. He was still coughing and Alvin poured him a glass of water, which he quickly drank. "Thanks, Alvin."

Beau wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. "Bret? You all right?" He waited a beat and then added, "Well, no, I guess you're not, are you? Come on, let's sit down."

Alvin poured two cups of coffee and followed them to a table, discreetly setting them down and leaving. With concern in his voice Beau asked, "What the doctor told you was that bad?"

Bret shook his head 'no' and took a drink of the coffee. "Just not expecting it, Beau." He hesitated, as if saying it out loud was going to make it so. "He told me Bart might stay the way he is and never go back to being the Bart we grew up with. I . . . . . I just can't imagine my brother so . . . . so . . . . "

"Serious?" Beau supplied the word Bret was looking for.

"Yeah."

"Nothing we can do?"

"No. Just take him at face value and don't question him."

Beau rested his chin in his hand. "Then that's what we have to do."

"How can you take it so calmly?"

"What other choice do I have? Would you rather have this new Bart or no Bart at all? What if we hadn't known where he was until it was too late? Then I would have let you kill Travis. Hell, I would have helped you kill Travis."

Bret didn't laugh; Beau was serious. So was Bret when he answered "I may kill him yet."

XXXXXXX

Around seven that night Beckham sent word down to the saloon that Mrs. Fletcher's baby wouldn't wait and he couldn't make supper .After some discussion everyone decided to put the gathering off until Sunday. Bret and Marybeth had a quiet supper in the hotel and she tried her best to cheer him up; Bart's ever present morose mood had now descended on his brother.

"But honey, he didn't tell you it was forever. He told you it MIGHT be, but nothing's for sure."

He answered her glumly, "He told me not to count on getting my real brother back. Same thing." He put his knife and fork down, his supper half-finished at best.

She tried to take his hand but he pulled it away from her. That's when she asked him, "Bret, what can I do for you?"

The look of despair never left his face. "Nothing, Marybeth. There's nothing you can do." He stood up and threw his napkin on the plate in disgust, then turned and left her sitting in the dining room alone.

She didn't know what to do. She wanted a drink, a very unladylike response. Then the though struck her – she'd go to the saloon on the pretext of talking to Georgia. This was going to be their night out and she didn't want to sit in the hotel room. She felt odd walking in there alone – unlike the days when she worked in a saloon – but she ignored the stares from the cowhands and went straight to Georgia's office.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she offered as she knocked on the door. "I just . . . . . didn't know where to go. "

Georgia immediately got up and came over to her. "What's wrong, Marybeth?" she asked as she guided the former dance hall girl to a chair.

"It's just Bret," Marybeth sniffled. "He's so upset about Bart that he was mean and rude to me. I know he doesn't mean it, but it's upsetting anyway. I just want to help, Georgia, and he won't let me." She sobbed into her handkerchief and then wiped her eyes. "How's Beau handling it?"

Georgia shook her head. "Beau is Beau. He stays on a pretty even keel most of the time. I know he's upset, too, but he's alright. Bret can be more . . . volatile." She got up from the desk and went to the door. "Mamie, get me a bottle and two glasses, would you?"

Georgia sat back down and within two or three minutes an older girl brought in a bottle of her private stock and two glasses. "Thanks," Georgia told her and poured a glass for each of them. "Here, drink this. It should make you feel better."

Marybeth sat back and smiled to herself. Ah, her drink! It might have taken some doing, but she had it.

XXXXXXXX

Bret knew he shouldn't have gotten up and left like that, but right now he couldn't take any more 'wanting to help.' He walked up the sidewalk from the hotel, watching the last rays of the sun as it set, and thinking about Bart and Beau and all the things they'd done with and to each other when they were young. Bart could always find something to laugh about when they were kids, and had even made jokes that made them all feel better when he was in jail. Like the time he'd told Beau it was illegal in Montana to shoot frogs. Who else would have found that out by reading law books? He couldn't bear the thought that his brother might never do something like that again. Before he knew it he was directly across the street from the jail, just as the door opened.

Out onto the sidewalk came the marshal, and Bret stopped walking and stared at him. Just then Travis looked up and saw Bret. He adjusted his gun belt and walked down the other side of the street, making his usual nightly rounds and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Bret turned and watched the back of the retreating marshal and wished for all the world that there was a little less coward and a little more killer in his blood. He wanted his brother back, no matter the cost, but killing Travis wouldn't restore Bart to his pre-encounter self.

He leaned against the hitching rail and lit a cigar. On impulse he crossed the street and watched the marshal check the doors down the block. He might not be able to kill in cold-blood, but he could certainly do his best to make Travis Cole miserable. And he was going to do that this night; maybe it would make him feel better. He started following Cole's progress down the street. When the marshal stopped, Bret stopped. When the marshal walked, Bret walked. It didn't take Travis long to discover that he was being followed; he reversed direction and came back up the street. Bret stood his ground. When the marshal got close enough to be heard he expressed his displeasure in no uncertain terms.

"What the hell are you doing, Maverick?"

"Just out for an evening stroll, Marshal Cole."

"Are you following me?"

Bret laughed and asked, "Whatever would give you that idea?"

"Well, stop it."

"I told you, marshal, I'm just walking."

"Walk on the other side of the street."

"Why would I do that? This side seems perfectly fine to me."

Travis wasn't amused by all this. "Are you trying to provoke me, Maverick?"

"Now why would I do that, Travis?"

"So I'll draw on you and you can shoot me."

Bret laughed again. "Marshal, I'm not the fastest gun you've ever met. Not even close. I'd probably be a lot closer to the slowest. So I'm not inclined to get into too many gunfights. Not even when I want to."

"Is that a threat?"

"No threat, Marshal, just a simple statement of fact. Besides, why would I want to shoot you?"

Travis turned his back on Bret in disgust and started down the street again. So did Bret. Travis yelled out "Stop it, Maverick!"

Beau had been standing inside the saloon doors watching the exchange. "You got a problem, Cousin Bret?" he called out.

"Well, yes," Bret answered. "The marshal thinks I'm following him."

Beau's turn to laugh. "Now why would he think that? Are you?"

"Nope."

"Why don't you come on over here and have a drink? Marshal? Oh I forgot, we threw you out last night. How about you, Bret? You're still welcome."

"Don't mind if I do," and Bret crossed the street and walked through the batwing doors, leaving Travis Cole on the other side, aggravated.

"Good show, Cousin Bret," Beau offered.

"Why thank you, Cousin Beau. I don't think he took it well, though."

"Do we care?"


	30. I Can See Clearly Now

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 29 – I Can See Clearly Now

Supper was going to happen on Sunday night, and happen on time. Mrs. Fletcher had delivered a baby boy, her third, that she named Samuel. She and the baby were doing fine. Bret apologized to Marybeth and they made up. Promptly at nine o'clock everyone arrived at the new café and the 'Maverick' clan, most of it at least, sat down to a delicious meal.

Bart, meanwhile, was once again playing poker with the big boys. And winning. As had become his habit. But there was something gnawing at him, and it all went back to what Frankie said to him last night. Something about how simple it would be for a woman to change her appearance. They were having a conversation over coffee and talking about starting a new life. Frankie maintained that it would be easier for a woman than a man, since it was harder for a man to change his looks. The remark had been bothering Bart ever since.

Right before midnight Bart's game broke up and he headed down to the saloon, having promised Jody that he would be there for closing. Alvin was handling the bar, so all Bart had to do was take the final receipts and deposit them into the strong box kept in Jody's desk. And make sure that everyone was out and the place was cleaned and locked up. It was good therapy; he'd closed the saloon so many times in the past that he knew the routines by heart. Things went a little slower with Alvin than with Harry, but by twelve thirty almost everything was finished. Bart checked the back door to make sure it was locked and deposited the night's receipts in Jody's office. He locked her door and went down the stairs, still thinking about Frankie's remarks from the night before.

He walked back up to the hotel slowly, breathing in the still night air. Sunday and just about the whole town was in bed asleep, except for the cowhands, poker players and saloon girls that had been in 'Mavericks.' Bart kept turning Frankie's words over in his mind, wondering just how a woman would make herself look different. The big thing, he thought, had to be the hair. Length, color, the way she wore it, the style of clothes she wore, the way she presented herself to the world and its perception of her.

As he unlocked his hotel room door something was nagging at him, even stronger than before. Hair. Hair color. Makeup. Too much? Too little? Hair color. Hair color? As he took off his coat in the dark room, suddenly he knew. Marybeth Canton. Long blonde hair. Too much makeup. The 'Wanted' poster he'd seen in the sheriff's office in New Orleans, where he and Bret had gone to give statements about the murders on the Bayou Belle. Connie. That was it! Connie Everly! Marybeth was Connie Everly, only with dark hair instead of blonde. So she was running away from the law. He'd done that, a time or two. What was she wanted for? Did he remember? Questioning about bank robbery. Robbery. Not the bank, surely? It would be most difficult, if not impossible, to break into. What then? And it suddenly hit him. 'Mavericks.' He'd just locked up the night's receipts in Jody's desk drawer. Friday's and Saturday's were already there. There must be over ten thousand dollars.

But wouldn't it be too difficult to break into? There were locks, and keys, and chains, and an elaborate labyrinth of hidden keys in secret places. Why, you'd need -

The key to the front door and knowledge of where everything was kept. How could Marybeth get her hands on those? Wait – Beau said something about Marybeth going down to help Georgia the night he was thrown in jail. And she could have been down there almost any time in the past few days, while Bret was off playing poker or vigilante or some other such thing. Georgia kept the front door keys in her desk. He hurriedly put his coat back on and picked up his gun belt. The derringer shoulder holster was already on; he always had it these days when he played poker. He had to get back to the saloon – before it was robbed.

XXXXXXXX

The closer it got to midnight the worse Marybeth felt. The rest of the party was laughing, talking and having a good time but she let it be known that she'd developed a terrible headache and wanted to go back to the hotel. Bret was inclined to walk her back, just to be safe. Marybeth insisted it was only a short distance and he should stay with his family. He finally was persuaded and she left just after twelve.

Just enough time to get back to the alley behind the saloon and meet Logan. _'Please let this go according_ _to plan,'_ she thought. After all the scheming and subterfuge she'd had to go through, Bret Maverick better be worth it. She hurried behind the buildings and finally Percy and the wagon came into view. For anyone that walked down the alley it would look like a drunken rancher had come out of the saloon and fallen asleep in his wagon. She looked for Logan but he must already be inside. As she hurried past the rig she gave Percy a tap on the shoulder, their signal that all was going according to plan.

She tried the back door – it was unlocked. Connie slipped inside and pulled the door closed behind her. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, having just come from outside, where the only light was a half moon. "Logan," she whispered. "Logan, where are you?"

"Up here," called his voice; he was already upstairs in Jody's office. She hurried up the steps and went in to help him. He was on the floor of the room with the strongbox in front of him, opened. The money had been so tightly packed in that it spilled out on the floor when the lid was raised.

"Hurry – let's get out of here," she whispered urgently. "What are you doing with that light? That wasn't part of the plan."

When it was too dark to see, he'd found an old kerosene lamp in the night manager's office and brought it with him. He stuffed the money back down in the strongbox and picked it up. "Here, Connie, you take the lantern so you can see down the stairs."

She walked ahead of him, out of the office and started down the steps slowly. Logan followed her after locking the door to the office, strongbox in hand. They had no idea what was waiting for them downstairs.

XXXXXXXX

He'd run back down the stairs in the hotel and out into the street. It was faster and quieter than running down the sidewalk. He still had Jody's front door keys, and he quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside. He was right, there was someone up in Jody's office with a faint light. He crept behind the bar and found Harry's double-barrel shotgun. Still loaded; thank god for Harry. From where he was standing he had a clear shot to the staircase. He heard voices and ducked down behind the bar.

" . . . . . . take the lantern so you can see down the stairs." A man's voice, one that he hadn't heard before. Then he could hear footsteps on the stairs; more than one person. Let them get further down into the saloon before he made his move.

"Logan, be careful. It's still dark on these stairs." Marybeth's voice – Connie, he reminded himself. She'd used Bret as much as he'd used her. Had that been her plan all along? If Bret hadn't gotten on the stage in Memphis, would she have tried the same scheme with him? Bret would be upset, angry, heartbroken. He'd been played for a fool. Bart felt responsible. Bret would have been paying more attention if not for him and his crisis.

He heard first one, then the other, reach the saloon floor and start towards Lettie's office. It was time to make his move. Bart stood up from behind the bar, double-barreled shotgun pointed towards the footsteps. There was Marybeth, still dressed for dinner, in the lead and holding the kerosene lantern. A man followed her with the strong box in his hands. He looked like he knew how to use the guns he wore. He was tall and lean, with a hard face and dark, mean looking eyes. Connie let out a gasp when she saw him.

"Bart!"

"Connie."

"Great," said the man behind her, obviously Logan.

"Stop right there, both of you."

"Bart, it's –"

"Not what it looks like?" he finished for her. "Yeah, Connie, I think it is."

.


	31. Hell's a Long Way Away

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 30 – Hell's a Long Way Away

"Fancy Man's brother, huh? Interested in him, too? As a back-up for when you get discarded?" Logan's haranguing was aimed squarely at the woman standing in front of him.

"Shut up, Logan. You don't understand, Bart. I had no choice. He was gonna kill Bret if I didn't."

"Is that the excuse you always use?" Bart leveled the shotgun directly at Logan, before he could get any ideas. "Put the strongbox down, Logan. And then the gun belt, and kick it over this way." Connie started to walk away from Doran. "Stand still, Connie. I don't wanna shoot you, but I will." Eyes back to the outlaw. "Put it down now, Logan."

"Great friends ya got there, Connie," Logan offered. "What does he do for an encore?"

"SHUT UP, LOGAN. I didn't want to be part of this. I wanted a life with your brother. This was the only way I could guarantee one." Connie was pleading, begging for her life and her freedom.

"Sure," answered Bart. "By robbing his family. And lying to him for weeks about who you are. That's a real good start. Set the lamp down and move away from him." Bart propped the shotgun on the bar and drew his Colt.

Logan finally set the cashbox down but didn't take his gun belt off. Instead he squared up, ready to take his chances against Bart's aim and his willingness to pull the trigger. In that instant Connie moved, Logan drew his guns and Bart fired his revolver. His shot went wide and he dropped behind the bar. The gunfighter fired two rounds at Bart and ran for the protection of the roulette table. Connie dropped the lantern and followed, finding a table to hide behind.

The combatants exchanged gunfire for a few minutes while Logan worked his way closer to the open end of the bar. Connie knew exactly what he was doing – get close enough to Bart to kill him. She'd seen him do it before, in Wichita. She started moving too, towards the front of the bar, and didn't notice that the kerosene lamp had hit the floor and shattered, igniting everything around it.

Bart could tell the outlaw was moving but his only escape was to back up the way he'd come in. The front doors were locked; he'd seen to that. He had to go now – Logan was close to the opening on the bar's far end and Bart would be a sitting duck if he stayed where he was. He slid around the bar's corner as Logan did the same on his end and fired a shot. The bullet grazed Bart's right arm as he moved in the opposite direction. He could see Connie now, working her way towards Logan, and he wondered what she was up to. For the first time he heard the flames crackling as tables, chairs and anything else flammable began to burn.

Without being seen by Bart, Logan reversed course and snuck quietly around the front of the bar. He paid no attention to Connie, who was on the same path. He steadily crept closer to the gambler, who was still waiting for him to appear around the back side. He stood straight and took aim; he had Maverick right in his sights. Connie picked that moment to fling herself in front of her former partner and she caught the bullet meant for Bart. She fell in Logan's path and he was distracted for a split second; it was enough time for the emotionally crippled gambler to fire his Colt and catch the outlaw in the head. Logan Doran dropped to the floor, almost on top of Connie Everly.

Bart scrambled to his feet and ran to the two bodies. Doran was dead, Connie was still breathing. He saw the strongbox nearby and grabbed it, then picked Connie up in his arms and carried her out the back door. They were alone in the alley; Percy had fled at the sound of gunfire. He laid her down on the ground gently and her eyes fluttered open; there was a slight smile on her face. She coughed and moaned and grabbed the lapel of his coat. "Bret," she gasped out. "I love him." Connie Everly closed her eyes and died, and took Marybeth Canton with her.

XXXXXXXX

From out of nowhere gunfire erupted south of the café as they were leaving and everyone heard it. Bret and Beau looked at each other and ran, Beck quickly followed. Jody and Georgia had the same thought and hurried after them down the sidewalk. They heard it and smelled it before they could see it - something was on fire.

Gunshots continued and some of the residents of the town appeared in the street. By the time Jody and Georgia reached the saloon it was engulfed in flames; Beau finally got the front doors unlocked and threw them open; men started running over from the livery with buckets and throwing water on the fire in a feeble attempt to extinguish it. Bret and Beau ran inside, both frantically yelling "Bart! Bart!" as loud as they could. Bret almost fell over the dead outlaw, the gun still in Logan's hand. The back door opened a crack and Bart yelled "Out here." The path to the back door was blocked by white-hot flames and choking black smoke. Bret grabbed Beau's arm and pulled him towards the front doors, then ran around to the alley and the back of the building.

Bart was on one knee in the dirt, Marybeth's body next to him. Bret ran for his brother and made sure he was unhurt, then turned to Marybeth and took her in his arms. "What's she doing here?" he asked desperately.

"She saved my life," Bart said softly.

"The body inside?"

"Her ex-partner. He was robbing the place. She took the bullet meant for me."

Bret held her close for a minute and then gently picked up the body and carried it back around front. Someone with an empty wagon had stopped in the street and Bret laid his burden down inside. Georgia saw the action and ran over; when she realized it was Marybeth she wrapped Bret in her embrace. "Bret, I'm so sorry."

They stood like that, the gambler in the arms of the saloon keeper, and watched 'The Three Mavericks' burn.


	32. The Four Mavericks

A Small Price to Pay

Chapter 31 – The Four Mavericks

'The Three Mavericks' was a total loss. The fire was put out before it could spread to the other buildings along Main Street, but there was virtually nothing left but the outer walls. Logan Doran and Connie Everly accomplished what Marcus Hook could not.

Jody and Georgia stood in the street as the sun came up and looked at the shell that was left. It was hard to know which one was the most broken-hearted, mother or daughter. Beau rolled the sleeves on his shirt back down and wiped his face with a towel retrieved from the hotel. He'd helped fight the blaze, along with his cousins, until the only thing left was the nightmare the women in his life were surveying. Bret had since gone to the clinic to officially identify Marybeth's body and Bart had gone with him, to steady his brother as much as anything else. Beck Dooley had served as the unofficial coroner until Doctor Kerrigan Thomas had joined the staff, and then Thomas took over the job. Beckham went to the clinic with the brothers since there were two bodies this morning.

Bret didn't know the whole story, but he knew Bart had to explain it all to the marshal, and Bret didn't want to put Bart through that twice. Marybeth was dead; nothing would bring her back. Right now he didn't know if that was good or bad. She'd saved Bart's life; that was the important thing. And his brother was talking again, saying more in the last hour than he had in days.

Beckham treated Bart's minor gunshot wound before Travis got there and Maverick was putting his coat back on when Cole arrived. It was the first time they'd seen each other since the 'release' from the jail cell, and Bret was necessarily wary of the impending encounter.

"I see the town's lost its last drinking establishment. What happened, Maverick?" He asked the question of Bret but it was Bart who answered him.

"Man tried to rob the saloon after I closed Sunday. I stopped him."

"What were you doing closing? Where was Jody?"

Bart was slow to answer. "She was at dinner with the rest of the family."

"And why weren't you there?"

That was none of the marshal's business, but Bart gave him an answer anyway. "Because I wasn't."

"Just tell me what happened."

"I locked up about twelve thirty. I got back to my hotel and remembered I'd left something at the saloon. I walked back and found the thief inside with the strongbox from Jody's office in his hands. He had a gun on Marybeth and he had her carryin' the lamp. I got the drop on him; he shot her and then shot at me. I killed him. End of story."

"That's it? That's all there is? Why'd he shoot Mrs. Canton?"

"Because he wanted to? I don't know, Cole. You'll have to ask him."

"Now you know I can't do that."

Bret had remained silent to that point, but he finally had to say something. "He answered you, Travis."

The marshal tried to ignore Bret. "Why was she there?"

"I have no idea." Bart remained calm and steady while he was questioned.

"I might be able to help you with that," Bret volunteered. "Marybeth was at dinner with all of us and she left early because of a headache. She wouldn't let me walk her back to the hotel. Maybe he saw her and thought she had keys to the place."

"Did she?"

"She must have," Bart interrupted. "She was working for Mrs. Mayfield, and they got in the front door."

Cole was listening to all this and thinking about writing his report. "And you just happened to get the drop on this outlaw, whoever he was?"

"Yep," the younger brother answered. "Like I said, he shot Mrs. Canton, then shot at me and winged me. I shot back."

"How'd the fire start?"

"Mrs. Canton dropped the lamp when he shot her. It ignited."

"What happened to the strongbox?"

"I grabbed it before I picked up Marybeth. Mrs. Mayfield has it."

"And you'll sign a statement to that effect?"

"Yep."

Cole turned back to Bret. "You have anything to add?"

"Why would I? I wasn't there."

With that, Travis went to get the coroner's report from Doctor Thomas. Bart let out a sigh.

Bret looked at Bart. "That's not the whole story, is it?"

"Nope. But it's enough for him."

XXXXXXX

When the bank opened Georgia took the cash box with the rescued money and made the weekends deposit. The total was eleven thousand, four hundred sixty-two dollars. That wasn't enough to rebuild but at least it would meet payroll demands for a while, until the extended family could figure out what to do.

Bret and Bart returned to their hotel. Before going up to their rooms to make up for the night's sleep they'd lost, breakfast seemed like a good idea. Bart had the appetite he hadn't had for a while and Bret was glad to witness it, even if he himself didn't each much. They got upstairs and Bret followed Bart into room 221. Bart raised the shades and opened the window, for the first time in days. Bret sat at the table and pulled out cigars, one for each of them. "Tell me the whole story," he directed his younger brother.

"What I told Travis is pretty much the truth. I got back here and just kept thinkin' about somethin' Frankie Slade said to me. About how much easier it was for a woman to change their appearance and it finally came to me. Remember when we went to see the sheriff in New Orleans about the murders on the Belle? I saw a 'wanted' poster with a very exaggerated drawing of Marybeth on it. With blonde hair and lots of make-up. Her name was Connie Everly. I hightailed it back to the saloon and slipped in just in time to catch her and her ex-partner comin' downstairs with the cashbox. I had 'em, Bret, but he wouldn't give it up. He started shootin' and I shot back. He caught me behind the bar and winged me, then snuck around the other side and I didn't see him."

Bart stopped to catch his breath. He hadn't spoken that much in days. "He had me, Bret. I was lookin' for him one way and he came in on the other side. I'd be dead if she hadn't jumped in front of him. She took the bullet for me."

Bret shook his head. "I don't understand. Why? All he had to do was kill you and they were in the clear."

'Somethin' she said when I first stopped 'em. That he threatened to kill you if she didn't go along with it." He sat down right in front of his brother; they were eye to eye. "She told me she loved you, Bret. I believed her."

The brothers sat like that, face to face, for the longest time. One had been given back his soul and his self-worth, the other his brother's life. Finally Bart stood up and reached out his hands, pulling Bret up with him. "I'm not really tired, are you? Let's go see what kind of a mess the saloon is. I think the ladies are gonna need us."

XXXXXXXX

They'd all gone back to Bret's hotel room; they'd nowhere else to meet. Georgia and Jody cleared Marybeth's belongings out of Bret's room and Georgia took her best dress over to the undertakers. She returned to find a lively discussion about rebuilding going on.

"We don't have enough money," Jody stated. 'We've got enough to limp along for a while, and that's all."

"We can rent the place next door while we build and run a temporary saloon. There's no place else to drink in this town. If we can make enough money to pay the bills we can buy time." That was Beau's take on the situation.

"That's all well and good," Jody replied, "but we still don't have enough money to rebuild the place the way it was."

"We've got a little over fifteen thousand dollars in the bank, counting the receipts that Bart saved," Georgia offered.

"I've got almost five thousand dollars I can put in," Beau responded.

Georgia laughed. "You've been playing poker again, haven't you?"

Beau gave her a sly smile but said nothing.

"I've got almost a thousand dollars in the bank. I was saving it for my wedding, but I don't think I'll need it," Jody added, chuckling.

"What about us?" Bret asked. "It was called 'The Three Mavericks', remember?"

"You don't have any money!" Beau laughed at his cousin.

"Yes I do," Bret rejoined, offended. "I've got over fifteen hundred dollars I can contribute."

All eyes turned to Bart. He was still the question mark. Was he back to being Bart? Did he want to help rebuild the family business?

"I suppose I could invest some," Bart offered cautiously. "Would twenty-five thousand dollars help?"

Jody wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "Twenty . . . . . Twenty-five THOUSAND dollars?"

"That should be enough with what everyone else is putting in, shouldn't it?"

"Bartley. Are you serious?" Jody was incredulous.

"No, Jody, I just threw that out there to get a laugh. I do have one condition before I turn over the money."

Somebody asked, "What's that?"

"We change the name to 'The Four Mavericks'."

Bret started laughing and he couldn't stop. Soon everyone in the room was laughing with him. They weren't sure why they were laughing, but Bret was. His brother was back.


	33. Epilogue

A Small Price to Pay

Epilogue

On a warm sunny day on the first of August, Beauregard Jackson Maverick married Georgia Louise Mayfield in a little church right outside of Silver Creek, Montana. His cousin, Breton Joseph Maverick, served as his best man and the maid of honor was Jody Belinda Mayfield Maverick. Also in attendance at the wedding were the groom's father, Bentley Jefferson Maverick, his other cousin, Bartley Jamison Maverick, and Beckham Nelson Dooley, M.D., who escorted the maid of honor.

'The Four Mavericks', as it was now called, was well on its way to being completely rebuilt. It would be finished sooner rather than later and all four of the owners named Maverick would be present on the day it was reopened. By the end of that day the only saloon in Silver Creek, Montana was back in business and the managing partner, Jody Maverick, was sporting a brand new engagement ring courtesy of Doctor Beckham Dooley.

Soon after Bret and Bart Maverick were once again off on new adventures, with the promise to return when Jody and Beck got married. And Jody gave her word that this time she really meant it.

Thanks to everyone who read this story. Stay tuned for more Maverick adventures, whether you want them or not. Hasta!


End file.
